The Very True Story of Two Best Friends
by thisvexesme
Summary: How many people do you know that live with their best friend? How many of those people are of opposite genders? How many of those people refuse to enter a relationship with each other, despite all of their friends already calling them a couple? Well, that's the story of Weiss and Jaune's life. They had always been together, since even the very beginning. It was just meant to be.
1. Chapter 1

"And so..." I said, pacing slowly along the edge of the stage, the sound of my heels a gentle reminder that women's shoes were made for form and not function. You'd think I'd have figured this out after fifty years, but clearly this was not the case.

No matter, of course.

"We come to the topic... of gravitational planes."

Most of my students seemed more interested in their laptops than they did in my lecture, but that was fine. The select few in the first couple of rows were my good apples, their faces eagerly shining, rapt with excitement over what the rest considered _boring._

"When two objects exist in three-dimensional space, we can consider them to be along a single plane. Everything else, every particle, every planet... no longer matters."

Okay, this isn't strictly true, but that was the topic of the next day's lesson. I continued nonetheless, knowing I would have to explain that today's lecture was mostly incorrect. I mean, the theory is right.

"So we have our two objects" I said, turning and pulling out my laser pointer. If the college knew I still had one of these, they'd lose their minds. Some bullshit about retinal damage, I dunno. "Let's call them... two condensed spheres with known masses. Known, _equal_ masses, sorry. So they exist somewhere in the universe all by themselves."

I paused to take a drink of water from my podium. The students at the front were busy scribbling away at the diagram up on the projector screen, bless them. I let them continue for a second before I went on.

"We know that the force that draws them together, illustrated by Newton's law of universal gravitation as force is equal to the gravitational constant times the two masses, divided by the distance between their centroids, is what is know as gravity. This acts on all objects universally, obviously."

Two dude-bro students up near the back of the room seemed to look at each other then look away. Yes, it acted on them too. They were universally attracted to each other. I smiled, remembering this exact lecture from my own college days.

"The force in this instance, I calculated to be point four-five to the negative eleven newtons of force, given equal masses of one hundred thousand tonnes and a distance of three hundred thousand kilometres. Or approximately the distance to the moon."

I was probably more excited than I should have been. But hey, this was my passion. Teaching kids about physics. Okay, not kids, adults. They were kids to _me,_ though.

"This force acts solely on the linear plane between the two masses, so we can assume that this 'plane' is actually a single line. You've all seen the demonstration with the soft fabric sheet and the two oranges in last year's entry-level Newtonian physics class, of course. I like to think of that as a baseline. It's only right a little bit."

With a click of my prompter, the slide changed with a neat little animation. "And the force between those oranges and our two giant spheres is the same sort of thing. It exists on a plane, in a straight line. Before you raise your hand and ask about supermassive objects, we'll be discussing that in two weeks."

One of my brighter students slowly lowered her hand. I changed slides again.

"Now, we can rotate this plane as many times as we like, and provided that we maintain the linear path between our two objects, the gravity between them will always be the same."

A few heads nodded, much to my own internal glee. I had been trying to enlighten them to this very simple fact for the last two classes, but the scores for that Monday's online quiz had proven that they didn't quite understand the whole 'space is three-dimensional but gravity is one-dimensional' aspect. I mean, I wrote my doctoral thesis on how gravity is actually three-dimensional energy, so maybe I hadn't fully explained the concept.

"Now, I want you to add a third object to the first two, but not in the same plane. Is the force still acting in one dimension?" I asked, turning to face the crowd. The room was mostly empty, as it usually was Wednesday mornings at ten o'clock. I had fought every member of the science faculty to get this time slot for this semester, and thanks to my tenure and position with the dean, I had won. The huge flagship lecture hall was the largest at the college, with a properly ridiculous three hundred and fifty person capacity. Of course, as usual, it was currently only entertaining about seventy people. Not a lot of students wanted to attend my class, and I was well used to not having a full class except for test days.

"Yes, Reese?" I said, pointing to the overly enthusiastic girl in the front row. Her hair was about as vibrant as her attention for my class. And seeing as it was bright green and shaved along the left side of her head, you can extrapolate what I mean from that.

"Well, no..." the girl said, suddenly becoming hesitant. It was probably because of my face. "... Because the forces now work in two directions, so it is now two dimensional."

I nodded "Yes, mostly correct. But not quite."

I turned back to the huge whiteboard below the projector screen, pulling a dry-erase marker from my inside pocket and drawing three circles in a triangle, connecting the lines between them.

"Even if we drew the third circle _above_ the other two, we can consider it on the same plane, because we can _change_ the plane that the first two exist on. Now, even if yes, the forces act in two directions, if you remember from first-year vectors, when you have two forces in two directions, they become one force in one direction." I paused to take another drink, brushing a speck of lint of my blazer. "So even if there are three objects with three masses and three gravitational forces, they all equal out to one force. So each object only moves in a one dimensional plane."

The ones paying attention all seemed to hum and haw at this, nodding and scribbling their notes into their binders.

"Does everybody understand?" I asked, looking around the room. This had been the end of my lecture today, and I had no more teaching for them. Not that I wanted to keep them past one o'clock, of course. Even _I_ wanted lunch at this hour. None of my students had any further questions. Maybe next week's quiz would go better than last time. "Alright. Thank you everybody, I'll see you next week. Quiz will be posted tonight at ten, and you have until Monday midnight."

Most of what I was saying was drowned out by the students in the higher levels sliding their chairs and re-bagging their laptops, slowly shuffling along the carpeted floor. I exhaled, letting the stress of teaching for three straight hours flow out of me as a sigh. Twenty years of teaching were slowly taking a toll on me, but I'm sure it will be fine. I mean, it _has_ been twenty years. I think I have this.

I stepped up to behind my podium, shutting off my microphone and pulling it out of my collar, tucking it neatly into the drawer behind the podium. I grabbed my textbook, and I do mean _mine,_ as my name was proudly displayed along the front cover, tucking it into my satchel bag and shouldering it. Sometimes my students would come and ask me questions after class, but today everyone seemed to be quiet.

I gave my head a quick shake, scratching a spot behind my ear that had been bugging me for about ten minutes or so as I left the classroom, following the last few students out of the room and leaving it with the lights on for Professor Cerulian who'd be there in an hour.

My escape, however, was cut short by the over-eager student.

"Professor, I had some questions about the homework and I was wondering if you could help me."

I smiled, trying not to feel a little short as Reese _did_ stand a full head taller. Gosh, what were they mixing into the water these days. Everyone is so unbelievably taller than me and it stopped being fair decades ago. And I was in heels!

"Miss Chloris, you know you can come and see me during my office hours if you have questions." I said, noticing her face falling. Clearly she had been expecting me to hang around the classroom. "I think my office would be better anyways. I mean, I have a desk, not a podium. And I know that you have a test next."

"Y-yeah, I do."

"Well, you should go study with your friends, then. Want to keep that four-point-oh GPA up, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Alright, well good luck, dear. And I've told you all a bunch of times, you don't have to use 'professor' or 'ma'am' or anything like that. You can use my name, it's fine." I joked, watching her smile. God, I love when my students do that. Smile. Makes me feel accomplished.

"O-okay. See you tomorrow then?"

"Regular hours. _À bientôt_."

I love them all so much. I don't know why it took me so long to realize that I might want to be a teacher. I mean, all that time spent studying, teaching my husband all the things I was learning, making unnecessary Powerpoint presentations, I mean I was cut out for this. And my husband is also a teacher, and I always admired what _he_ was doing. This is where I should have started. I mean _come on._

The trek up to my office on the fourth floor is always a little absurd. Since I am a member of faculty, we have rules we have to follow. They include, and are not limited to, _having to take the stairs, all the time._ But, you know. That's fine. Elevators are for wheelchairs and those who are otherwise stairs-deficient. It's just a long way up. But, I always managed. Stupid legs. Stupid aging.

Finally up in my office, I managed to fall down into my chair, my joints creaking so loudly I might have gotten a noise complaint. I sighed. Another morning of teaching done, another group of students who would bell curve themselves to a sixty-five average on the next quiz. My class isn't hard. You just have to pay attention. I've only ever asked things that are on the slides or in the textbook. It's been that way for twenty years. Why people still do poorly is beyond me.

Finally comfortable, I pulled my laptop up and out of my satchel and lay it down on my desk. My lunch buddy would be around in a minute to enjoy homemade food my husband had prepared yesterday. I was excited.

Although halfway through opening my not-quite-allowed minifridge to get a drink, a face appeared in my door. I paused, frozen.

"Uh, doctor, if you have a minute, I have a bit of a problem." The balding man said, stepping only halfway into my office. "It's nothing major, just something procedural."

Oh yay, a problem. I love problems. Like, everyone else in the academic advising _department_ would be more suited to helping, why does Everett always come to _me?_

"Yeah, sure, what's up?" I said, closing the fridge in lieu of straight-up groaning in his face.

"Oh, just a tiny issue of a courseload. One of my students wants to be registered in my class, but the cap is one-twenty five."

"Let me guess, he's number one-twenty six?" I looked over my shoulder at him, pulling open my filing cabinet and rooting around for my course lists. His nod was answer enough. "Alright, let me see what I can do. I can't put him in if it's waitlisted."

"No, no, of course. But he has all the prereqs, and this section is the only one that doesn't conflict."

I let my shoulders drop. "I got it covered. You have his file, or do you want me to just guess who it is?"

I was handed a file.

"Alright, I'll fix it."

"Thanks, boss."

"I'm not your boss" I called after, but he was already down the hall and out of earshot. I tell you, the things I put up with here. Absolutely ridiculous. I finally managed to get my drink out of the fridge, cracking it open and grabbing a well-chilled can of Coke. This shit is _so_ bad for your teeth. I don't advise you have too many of these things if you can avoid it. I limit myself to once a week. My child, however, drinks this shit like _water._

A knock hit the doorframe, grabbing my attention. I looked up, only seeing a fist attached to maybe three inches of wrist. A signature greeting of the aforementioned child. I smiled.

"Come i-in" I said, in a sing-song and childish voice. A face popped around the frame.

"Hey, mom" the face said, a toothy grin coming with it. "Can I come in?"

"Hey, Lil. Please do."

She pulled herself around the frame in a very animated manner and slunk over the back of one of the two chairs at my desk. Much like both her father and I, she was very flexible and made climbing awkwardly onto furniture look graceful. Her choice of tight skinny jeans and fitting leather coat might have been the reason she actually more or less _fell_ into her chair. Graceful. _Byoutiful._

"So, how was class today?"

She shrugged, slinging her legs all over my chair. Damn her and her long girly legs. One of the few things she inherited from her father was height. Unlucky for me, the resident short-ass.

"S'okay, I guess" she said, mimicking one of my catchphrases. "We talked about De Morgan's theorem n' stuff."

"Oh?"

She yawned, digging around in her bag for what I assumed was her lunch. After a few seconds, I was proven right. The bag she pulled out of her other bag had her lunch in it. I grabbed my own.

"Yeah, the logic thing. You break the bar, change the sign or whatever. The prof was tryna' make the kids at the front understand but they kept asking the same question over and over and over and over and I was just like ' _please shut up I've been done for days._ You know?"

I smiled, pulling out two muffins. She was certainly her mother's daughter. Intelligent, beautiful, and very irritable. Absolutely perfect. I had, of course, always thought that, since the moment she was born. But such was the folly of being a parent. Completely impartial attitude towards your children.

"Oh, I know." This was the same way _my_ teachers had taught _me._ Being smart had its perks. Our favourite of which was rubbing it in the faces of others. I know, we were _so_ polite. And to think we're from the Great White North. "Want a muffin, sweetheart?"

She simply inhaled sharply with a grin on her face like she was trying to hoover it out of my hand from six feet away. I handed it over very cautiously, careful to not put my hands to close to her mouth lest I lose some fingers. Chocolate muffins are a popular commodity in our household. A box of six sometimes wont even last 'till the end of the _day._

"Fanks mum" she said, mouth full of muffin.

I hummed in response, eating my own like a _lady._ My daughter eats like an animal. Always has, and I suspect she always will. Her aunt is probably to blame. She's an animal too.

This was my favourite part of Thursdays. Having lunch with my lovely daughter. Made waking up at five in the morning, teaching a seven a.m. class followed by an immediate ten a.m. class. Six straight hours of teaching had an effect on my lungs.

We enjoyed our lunch for another ten minutes or so in silence, me with my carefully made deli meats wrapped tightly with little toothpicks, and her with a destroyed muffin and ham n' cheese sandwich cut into four little triangles. My husband always made sure his girls were well fed, you see. Somehow, against everything he tried to do, we stayed thin.

This was the day where none of us could be at the table for breakfast, as it seems, as I leave the house at six, my husband's gone at seven, and Lil leaves at around nine for class, so we don't have time to be a family in the mornings. She stood, groaning in her young-adult-life-sucks way and breaking my train of thought.

"Thanks, mom. See you at home. Gotta run to class" she said with a bright smile, grabbing her bag from the floor and crossing around to my end of the desk for a quick hug. Some of her floofy blonde hair fell into my face as she did. I resisted the urge to make a fuss and spit it out like she used to when she was little to _my_ hair.

"Love you, sweetie!"

She let go and skipped off. "Love you too, mom!"

The room went quiet again as I was once again left by myself. I slumped down, and opened up my email, and thumbed through my overflowing mailbox, not quite excited about it. Most were from other members of the science faculty adding me to their email blasts. Yuck.

Thirty-seven dummy emails later, having actually answered only two real ones from students wanting to be registered in my classes and one from my department chair about union dues, I decided enough was enough. No more classes to teach for that day, and no office hours were posted so I was free. I usually stayed in my office and worked on marking or whatever, but even that was done.

Time to boogie out, I thought. I stood slowly, taking my sweet time as I did. The amount of times I had banged my hip on the edge of my desk, I was not taking any chances. Stupid Ikea desk being too tall for me. Yeah, it was the desk's fault, not mine. Not mine!

I collected my coat from the chrome hanger behind the door and folded my laptop back into my satchel, stuffing a few files down with it. I took the student's file Everett had given me as well. I'd have a chance to look that over when I got home, where I could be comfortable and warm in my jammies when I disappointed him and didn't let him into the course. Professor Greene could sort his _own_ students out. A few other binders with coursework in them were stuffed into my black rolling suitcase.

I left my office in a huff, a happy huff mind you, and made my way back over to the stairs with my wheelie bag in tow. Happy to be going home, that is. The trip back down the stairs was much easier, as I elected to slide down the middle railing on my butt like we used to do back in high school. I felt like such a delinquent then, and I still feel that way now. It's just more fun. Of course, you have to make sure no students are around. I'm required by my contract to be a good influence. Fuck that.

I always know the back way to get anywhere. One of my strong suits. There _was_ actually a way into the parking structure from the math and science building, it just meant going down into the tunnels and knowing which unmarked door to take. Within five minutes I had made it back to the parking lot and back to my car. The dirty white paint didn't so much shine back at me as much as I usually liked. A shame, really. Saturdays were usually spent with the three of us out in the driveway washing our cars and enjoying the weather, considering the heat wave we'd had. Just today it was raining and my car got dirty.

The drive home that day wasn't anything to write home about. Although I _will_ say that leaving at one-thirty on a Thursday had its advantages, especially if you drove as nice a car as me. Open roads in a classic M5, their really isn't anything better. Driving-wise, of course. I'd argue that low mortgage payments, clean bill of health, and comfortable shoes are probably higher on the list than a forty year old BMW, but I'm a little sentimental about the car. I've had her since I was seventeen.

I do still like going fast, just like when I was seventeen. Old habits die hard. I might be turning fifty this year, but I'll always be an enthusiast. And when the roads are empty like they were, I'll still get after it a little. Never with my daughter in the car, of course. Although I've seen the way she drives when she's alone. Just like her mother, and that makes me proud.

What _also_ makes me proud is getting to pull into my driveway and into my garage of _my_ house in the suburbs, the very same one my husband and I had bought right out of university, even before we were 'officially' together. The bank had given us some unusual looks, as we were two, bordering on three, unmarried twenty-three year olds who had walked into a bank effectively to rob it and buy a house. Since we did in fact have a roommate who was willing to make one third of a mortgage payment with us, they eventually said yes.

It took me a moment to realize that I had been sitting in my garage lost in my own thoughts, so I shut the car off and got out, careful to not bang the door on the row of bicycles. Twenty minutes of cruising home and I had gotten distracted by myself. The garage door slowly and quietly closed automatically and left me in silence, and I grabbed my bags and went inside.

"Hello-oh!" I called, hanging my coat up in the entryway. "Everybody's favourite person is home!"

Some soft humming and some guitar strumming came as my response. I smiled. He was probably procrastinating from his actual work in the front room. He always does this, too. Luck for my husband, his Thursdays are like mine. Teaching in the morning, afternoon off. The high school was a lot more lax with having teachers go home when they aren't actually teaching than the college was. So he spent his afternoons lying on the couch playing music when he thought I wasn't around.

" _M'in here"_ came the call from the living room. I carefully pulled my heels off, supporting myself with hand against the wall. The tile floor in the hallway was cold under my pantyhose-covered feet as I poked my head around the corner. There he was, laying tiredly on the equally tired red couch, _my_ Fender Mustang in his arms and a bunch of sheet music all spread out on the floor. God, it was a sight to behold. His greying blond hair, his well trimmed face, the clean and clear evidence of his still very fit body. _Ugh,_ he still made me feel like a girl again.

"I didn't know you were coming home early today" he said as I approached "This is a nice surprise. How was work?"

I knelt down next to the couch and leaned in for a kiss. It always makes me giggle like a teenager. Even if we _have_ been married literally half our lives.

"Hey, buddy. It was alright. Once again my students ignored me except for one green-haired hipster. She's gonna end up like me one day, I can feel it."

He smiled and closed his eyes, letting me take my guitar back and gently place it on the floor, strings up. "And how is that?"

"Incredibly happy, teaching what she loves, and married to her best friend" I cooed, crawling onto the couch next to him. I slung my leg over his knees and draped my hand loosely over his chest, wiggling down so I puzzle-pieced myself against his side. His long and spindly limbs were very easy to cuddle with, contrary to popular belief.

"Well, that's certainly a lofty goal, no? We're not exactly the best role models when it comes to relationships."

I blew a raspberry into his neck. We were the _best_ role models.

"No, m'serious" he said, his laugh evident in his voice. "I don't think anyone will ever match the amount of sap we have. We rival most maple syrup companies with all this sap."

He was right, of course.

"Nah, you're just sentimental. You love me."

He chuckled quietly. "Yes, yes I do. Wouldn't have put up with you otherwise."

"Mmm, I love you too" I said, receiving a smooch on the top of my head. I closed my eyes and purred into his chest.

" _Ugh, you two are so gaaaay!"_ came an exasperated voice from the kitchen.

"Welcome home, Lily. How was class?" he said, in his best fatherly voice.

" _Cancelled. Big sign on the door. M'so pissed."_ She replied, the sounds of the refrigerator opening and slamming shut evident of her course of action. Same thing I would have done, if I'm honest.

"Don't spoil your dinner honey, we're having lasagna. There's veggies in the fridge if you're hungry." I called, still in full cuddle-mode. I wasn't going anywhere. If Lily wanted to eat snacks, I was powerless to stop her. And given my position on the couch, I was immobile, too.

" _Thanks, mom!"_

Her bedroom door shut with a click, leaving the two of us alone again. It was a real wonder how we got to this point, all married and shit.

If you think your typical fairy tales are real love stories, you are sorely mistaken, I'm afraid. This is no Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, or Prince Charming and his harem of teenaged princesses. No, ours is a love story like no other, specifically where the guy doesn't get the girl after a stupid arduous process of defeating suitors or finding himself first. No, this is one where the _girl_ has to go after the _guy_ because he's too _polite_ to go after her.

So if you're sitting down, I'll tell you how we got here.

How I married my best friend.

How I, Weiss Schnee, fell in love with Jaune Arc.


	2. Chapter 2

**September 2** **nd** **, 1996**

The first day of school. Also known as the greatest day ever. Also known as the happiest day in my entire life. And I got to have it once a year, every year. Needless to say I was very excited that morning. My friends would be waiting for me at the school gates, and then we would conquer the third grade! Emmy and I were the champions of Barr-Haven Public School in Ottawa, ya see. No other student, not even the sixth graders could stand up to us!

We weren't bullies, that's not what I meant. We just did a lot of schoolyard roleplaying. I was the Princess of Icetopia, our fictional snowy world that spanned the whole of the schoolyard, which my memory tells me was very large. Lots of space for myself and the Bandit Princess to ride our horses through and slay leagues of monsters.

Our kingdom stretched to the far reaches of Stone Way Park as well. I lived just down the road from the nice open park with it's little play structure and soccer field. The sledding hill was great in the wintertime as well. Oh, excuse me. _Mount Rutschen._ The highest peak in my kingdom.

And today marked a new conquest! The trials and tyranny of Grade Three! To say I was prepared would have been a gross understatement. Everything from the second grade, every book, every scrap of paper had been thrown out, replaced by all shiny and new binders, notebook, and even a fancy new TI-83, still in it's box in my school bag. Not that The Have allowed third graders to use calculators or anything. But I was prepared if say, we were handed a pop quiz that involved poly-dimensional differentiation. Again, not that I could have even done those, but the little black calculator was capable to do so.

"You're taking too long!" my sister complained, leaning on my doorframe. "Just pick one and lets _go!_ You're gonna make _me_ late too!"

I was _not_ taking too long. I was savouring the moments, carefully choosing what I'd wear on my first day of school. I had picked out a sweet little skirt and my favourite hoodie with the _Herzeleid_ album art. Not that it was supposed to be a cold day, it was still late in the summer, but I wasn't taking any chances. I don't like the cold.

"I'll take as long as I need to, thank you very much" I said back, trying out a little bit of snap in my response. Winter scoffed back at me and stormed off, her angst so palpable it could have been classified as a mineral. Specifically salt. But she was seventeen, it was to be expected. I pulled on my rubber boots, since you never know when a good puddle will present itself for stomping in.

My jean jacket was next, slung over my shoulders and buttoned neatly up the front, my hoodie sticking out just so. I grabbed my bag from the floor and hoisted it up to my back. The bright yellow cloth bag had all of it's little pins on it, each one bought at the Montreal Comicon for whatever pocket change I had. My favourite one was, and still is, the Street Fighter II pin that I wore on the front of the left strap. Before you get all up in arms about and eight-year-old liking Street Fighter, remember this was ninety-six and the ESRB was in its infancy. Also Montreal doesn't give a damn.

Out of the room I went, skipping lively down the skinny wood staircase of our little house. It was nice to live in a _new_ house, having moved there at the beginning of first grade from Germany. Attending school that year with as thick an accent as mine had been no easy feat, but I was not deterred by such trivial things as that. Plus, teaming up with my Persian friend who's accent was similarly thick had made it easier.

"I wonder what Emmy's wearing for her first day" I said aloud as I skipped down the hall towards the front door. Having family members had occasional disadvantages, the worst of which being that anything I needed to reach on any ledge was always _just_ beyond my grasp. I grabbed my stepstool out of the closet and hopped up to grab my house keys off the hook next to the door. Pulling the door open I leaped outside and into the morning sunshine. I was happy. _First day of School_ happy.

"Come _on!"_ came the angry yell from my sister again. She was sitting in father's ancient Catalina, waiting for me to get in the car so she could drive me to school. I eventually got my butt in gear, bouncing over and pulling the eighty-pound door open and climbing in. I knew he still had some in the car, so I popped the glovebox open and grabbed Aerosmith's _Draw The Line_ and shoved it in the 8-Track player.

"Let's roll" I said confidently as I put on my bright pink sunglasses and pretended to be cool. Winter rolled her eyes and loped the huge wagon out of the driveway. I don't know why she was always in a hurry at seven in the morning. My school didn't begin until quarter to eight and her highschool didn't open until nine. I always assumed it was because she was meeting a secret boyfriend or something our parents wouldn't approve of. I found out later that it was for rugby practice before school, strictly against our father's wishes. Had I known, I would have been more accommodating, I think.

"Excited for your first day, kiddo?" she asked, as if trying to make conversation.

"Yup! Em and I are gonna make sure we have class together!" I said with a vigorous nod. Well, I certainly _hoped_ we had class together. "If not we're gonna take over the school."

My sister laughed. "Planning a mutiny already, Weiss-Cake?"

More aggressive nodding.

"That's my girl."

Today was going to be a good day. I could just _feel_ it. As we rolled up to the front of the school in the tired and smokey car that ticked like a cheap clock, I could just _feel_ the energy in the air. Before we had even fully stopped I had pulled my seat belt and had already opened the door. If Winter had said anything against it, I hadn't heard as I had already booked it across the schoolyard, yelling my goodbye over my shoulder.

"Emmy!" I yelled, skipping around. I couldn't see her yet. She had probably scampered up one of the low trees along the back of the yard. Quite a lot of other students were milling about the yard, from the first graders right up to the pompous sixers. The kindergardeners were penned in near the north end, and all standing around with their parents, waiting for the teachers.

"Emmy!" I called again, skipping along the line of trees. "Emmy?"

No luck. That was alright, maybe she was just late. Well, not late. Just not as early as me. A shame. I missed her olive brown skin, her appreciation for beige shorts, and her apple-a-day habit. Maybe I was just hungry. In my excitement, I realized that I had forgotten breakfast. I wasn't gonna break open my lunch and rob myself of that luxury, no sir. I was above that sort of debauchery. I slowed my skip, brushing my hand along the bark of one particularly thick tree.

And that's when I found him.

Sitting at the base of the tree, right at the far corner of the schoolyard, right at the fence facing the sports centre. He had his knees tucked up to his chest, the dark blue denim torn from both of them. His messy blond hair was very different from any of my classmates, and that was the first thing I actually noticed about him. It was almost _yellow_ blond, something I had never seen before.

"Hi there!" I said, squatting down on the grass "What are you doing way out here?"

He sniffled, pulling his knees closer. He looked like he was cold, wearing only ripped jeans and his navy t-shirt. I felt bad for the kid. "Hey, you shivering? You wanna borrow my coat?"

I didn't even wait for an answer. I already had my bag off and was halfway through undoing my jacket, ready to offer up my best _gastfreundschaft_ to the boy.

"No, it's okay..." he said, his voice thin and a little afraid. Maybe I had come on too strong. "...I brought my coat."

I looked around for said coat. New Kid wasn't gonna hide anything from me. Although, I soon found out he was telling the truth. He was sitting on it. I sat down on my knees in the dirt, sitting properly with my hands in my lap to hold my skirt down from the wind.

"Why are you sitting under a tree?" I half asked, half said. He still hadn't answered my first question. Why I thought this would change with a second was could be attributed to an overwhelming sense of optimism for this poor soul.

He shrugged. "I don't have any friends here."

Well that just straight up wasn't true.

"I'm your friend."

He looked over at me questioningly.

"But we just met."

I nodded, big smile on my face. If no one else at this school wanted to befriend him, I would. And I would do it better than everyone else.

"Yup. And now we're gonna be best friends. My name's Weiss! I was born in Hamburg and I like the colour blue. What's your name?"

A very slight smile hit the boy, probably amused by my two unrelated facts.

"M-my name is Jaune..." he stuttered "And I'm from Marseille, and I like… red? I guess?"

"Come on, Jaune. Be _confident_ in your answer. Best friends need to know important things about one another."

He seemed hesitant. I persisted.

"For example, I strongly enjoy pink lemonade. What is _your_ favourite lemon-based drink?" I asked, switching to cross-legged since my feet had gone to sleep. He finally put his legs down and stopped his little self-hug. He wasn't fully relaxed yet, though.

"I like… regular lemonade."

"Not anything fancy, like spicy strawberry jalapeño lemonade?"

"No, regular is fine."

I smiled.

"See, that's better! Confidence!" I said, giving my honest thumbs up. "So, you should come hang out with me and my friend. We're the cool kids, so you'll be safe with us. But why were you by yourself over here?"

"I told you." he said, avoiding eye contact "No one wanted to be my friend."

"But why not?" I asked, perplexed. "You're a totally normal person, right?"

"It's not that. We just moved here yesterday."

Oh, a recent immigrant. From The France, no less.

"Why would that have any effect? I'm from Germany, and I managed to make friends really easy."

"I just..." he said, scratching his ear "...don't know how to pretend to be Canadian like my mom says I have to be to make friends."

Well that was preposterous. But I could work with this.

"You don't have to do much to pretend to be Canadian. It's simple, you just have to pronounce it like _a-boot_ and end every sentence with 'eh' and you'll be good!"

"But I sound like I'm from France." he persisted. I rolled my eyes at him.

"Not really, you sound just as normal as me. If you need to, just pretend to be from Quebec like I do sometimes if I can't pronounce something."

This seemed to have grabbed his attention.

"You speak French?" he asked, turning his head

"Oui." I said, my accent coming through again. "I attended an international school for kindergarten, or the German equivalent or whatever it was. Most of my classmates were from Paris."

Not that we were doing any French classes at four years old, but having to use the very basic french I knew to just talk to them was learning enough.

"That's kinda cool, I guess." he said, his shell slowly coming off.

"Yeah, you should meet Emmy. She speaks Farsi, Italian, French _and_ English. She's the cool one."

He smiled, rubbing his nose. "I guess so."

"What did I say about confidence, Jaune?"

"Okay, okay, sure."

We sat around for a moment in silence. The wind whistled around us a little.

"Why did you want to be my friend?" he asked, tilting his head at me. I frowned down at my hands.

"I think we should always seek out new friends. No one should be left out. Especially if people are alone. Then they should be included first. Make sense?"

I was always the outcast myself, so I had needed to become the extroverted one in order to maintain friendships. But that was from being a German in Canada. And as it turns out this was not something a lot of racist children didn't appreciate. So I had to invent a coping mechanism.

"I guess so." he said. I gave him a look. "I mean yes, it makes sense."

"Good! Lets go find Emmy. She should be here now."

I stood up quickly and grabbed my bag, slinging it back over my shoulders. I extended my hand down to him. He hesitated for only a very brief moment, before taking my hand and letting me pull him off his bum and onto his feet. He grabbed his jacket, which was as I suspected, now very dirty. His hands were crazy soft, though.

"Okay..." he said as I skipped off. I could hear him following along, so I knew I didn't have to go back and hold his hand or anything. I had already committed the highest schoolyard sin. I had touched his hand. This meant I needed my industrial strength hand sanitizer. I had left that at home, however. Today I would have to just deal with the cooties.

"Hey, wanna see something cool?" I asked, spinning around like a ballerina, my boots having minimal traction on the grass.

"Okay." he said, genuine interest in his voice. I smiled.

"Stand back!"

He obliged. I carefully took my backpack off and set it on the grass, before bouncing up again. I held my hands above my head, and lifted one leg. With one fluid motion, I cartwheeled over my hands, landing back on my feet. With practice, I had taught myself to cartwheel fast enough so my dress stayed down at my knees, something I can still do. I followed the first cartwheel up with a second one, and then a third, which had to be ended with a round-off as my core was not all that strong and I nearly collapsed.

"Impressive" he said, giving me a few quiet claps of approval. I beamed, trying not to breathe too hard from the sudden physical activity I had forced upon myself. "I wish I could do something like that. I can only do boring stuff."

"Like what?"

He shrugged. "I can play violin, but not very well. I'm not really learning very fast."

"Hey, that's pretty cool. I _can't_ play any instruments, so you have that going for you. I wish I could play guitar or drums or something cool like that." I realized I was rambling. "But that's whatever. What kind of songs can you play?"

I received another shrug. I knew I would need to get used to that.

"Just whatever my teacher gives me. She taught me some Paganini, but I don't know if that's cool. It's too hard, though."

So be fair, I had never heard of Paganini. But I pretended to, just so I could continue his train of thought.

"No, that's pretty cool, actually. Classical music can be cool. I listen to rock, or whatever is in the car. I don't really get to choose." I said, making him laugh a little. I guess the raw truth of not being allowed to change the radio station in the car could be considered funny. "My sister listens to it a lot. She's the expert."

"You have a sister?" he asked, eyebrows raising.

I nodded. "Yep. She's super into German rock. Weird stuff you probably haven't heard."

"Rammstein?" he guess, immediately. I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was, seeing as he was from France, a country that happened to be conveniently located right next to my own. "Your sister has very intense taste."

It was my turn to shrug. "I guess so. Do _you_ have any brothers or sisters?"

"Yep. Seven older sisters."

My jaw hit the floor. _Seven?!_

"S...seven?"

He nodded, as if this was a perfectly normal amount of siblings to have. "Yep. I'm the youngest. I used to think it was because they wanted a boy."

"...seven..."

"I guess they just finally decided that eight was enough." He dug his hands into the pockets of his coat, kicking some dirt along the edge of the basketball court. I still couldn't believe that he was one of _eight._ Still can't. It's nothing short of absurd. I needed a distraction. Lucky for me, at that very moment my first friend arrived. In a pale green dress as well. But not a real green dress, that's cruel. Or so I'm told.

"Oh hey, it's Emmy! Hi Emmy!" I called to the girl from across the schoolyard, waving my arms wildly. She started running over to us, her boots kicking up dust with every step. She smiled brightly, brighter than anyone ever should have for Monday morning at seven thirty.

"Hey, Weiss." she said, her heavily accented voice a fairly stark contrast from my faded German and Jaune's mild French one. "Who's this?"

"This is Jaune, he's new. He's my new best friend."

"But what about me?" she asked, fully justified in doing so. "I thought _I_ was your best friend?"

I laughed it off best I could. "Don't worry, Emmy, you're still number one. We just need more people in our group."

"What about the… you know… kingdom?"

"Every kingdom needs a Knight to help protect it, Em." I said, much to her annoyance.

"But… you can't do that!"

"Yes I can, I have knighted him, he is now a knight. Okay, Sir Jaune?"

He looked completely and utterly bewildered. Completely expected, of course. Emmy wasn't having it.

"Princesses can't knight people, only kings and queens can" she said, completely correct in saying so. "And you're not the queen."

Darn, I had been foiled by logic.

"Well, he's a knight anyways. A rogue knight." I said, applying a new rule to our world. Emmy had to concede. The use of 'rogue' had won her over, and now I had my own new knight. So our new monster-hunting party was two princesses and a knight. Seemed fair.

"Well, whatever. He can join us if you're _so_ interested." She rolled her eyes with as much sass as a third-grader could, before crossing her arms in front of her. A cursory glance at her little digital watch, which was upside down from my perspective, showed a time of seven-forty-four.

"Oh, class is starting! Come on, guys, we're gonna be late for class line-up!" I grabbed both of their hands and pulled them along, running as fast as my short little legs could carry me. Everyone else was already congregating around the entry doors of the old brick building, all neatly standing in lines in front of teachers with class signs on them. The rest of the students were still throwing stuff at each other from their respective lines and ranks.

I quickly pulled them to the three lines of third-graders. We'd be in one of these three lines of students. Now, if only to find out which one. The first class seemed promising, it looked to be missing about three students. Maybe that would be the three of us!

"Okay, lets's see..." I pondered aloud, reading the sign the teacher was holding. The very first name on the list, in bright blue letters, was Jaune Arc. "Oh, here you are, Jaune. You're in this class!"

"O-okay..." he said, relegating himself to the back of the line as I continued down the list. A few students names I remembered from last year, a few I did not, but I finally found my way down to the S's. First one was me! "Hey Jaune, we're in the same class!"

I tried not to cheer so loud and make Emmy jealous. I checked the list again. Just below my name and one other student's was Sustrai. Her name. I let out a sigh of relief. I wouldn't have to stage a mutiny after all. Excellent.

/…/

Class came and class went. Lunch came, and lunch went. Afternoon class came, and afternoon class went just the same. I will always argue that eating outside on the grass, under the shade of a nice comfortable tree creates a positive learning environment for your brain, but somehow being eight years old means that every argument is always shot down with 'go sit down at your desk when you eat, Weiss'. No matter how good my arguments are. Oh well. The rest of the year I'd just sneak my food outside, I thought.

Thanks to both having S last names and in such close proximity to each other on the student list, Emmy and I got to sit right next to one another in the small, sterile-feeling classroom. I knew that within a year we could have the place _filled_ with our artwork, completely covering every tapeable surface.

The unfortunate thing was that my new best friend was forced to sit right at the front in front of the teacher's desk, _miles_ away from us at the back of the room. Not even _close_ to note-passing distance. I could probably have hit him with a paper airplane, though. I wasn't going to try on the very first day of school, but I was sure I had that sort of paper-based air warfare skill.

When the end of the slow, yet fully exciting first day of classes unfortunately came, and we had all been handed our take-home assignments, it was time to go home. I found myself saddened by the end of the day, even though I'd be back again the very next morning to do it all again. And seeing as I had myself a new best friend, the rest of the schoolyear would be amazing.

I skipped along the playground and through the gate again.

"Oh, hey Jaune." I found him sitting against the main gate, out of view behind the big concrete school sign. "What are you doing down here?"

"Waiting for my sister. I'm not allowed to walk home alone." He said, watching two of the school buses leave in a cloud of dust.

"Oh." I said, pausing my skip. "How far do you live?"

"Down near Stone Way park."

I was, as you could expect, overjoyed.

"Hey, so do I!" I nearly cheered. "Wanna walk home with _me_ instead?"

His smile was very brightening. I almost couldn't control myself.

"Well, I suppose so. Can we wait a minute so we can tell my sister? I don't want her to worry or anything."

So we did. His sister, a sixth grader named Meyln, seemed pleased to be rid of him if I was honest. Stupid sixers. They were all like that, though. Willfully intolerant of every other grade in the school. Thought they were so good because they were _graduating._ Bunch of meanies.

We walked home together. Well, I more skipped home with him shuffling along to try and catch me. His sister stayed around the school with her friends, so we didn't have to walk with her. And that was fine by me. I skipped along.

I don't know, maybe it came from having parents who were very reserved and isolated from their children that made me like this. This overwhelming urge to attach myself to people and befriend them. My father was always at work, and when he _was_ home he'd be in his office, still working. I don't think I can remember a time when he took a moment to play with his children. All he cared about was work.

And my mother, as well. But that was less about work and more about keeping my six-year-old little brother from jumping off everything in the house, so she never had time for me or my big sister. It's almost as if they didn't necessarily care about their middle child. But that was an absurd notion, I hate myself for even thinking it. Of course they cared. They just didn't show it in the same way as everyone else. Maybe that's why I wanted so badly to have Jaune and Emmy as my friends. So I could have people to relate to. God knows that Jaune might have the same problem, being one of _eight_ children. I'd be surprised if his mother could remember each name.

My skipping slowed as we reached my street. I didn't know if he needed to follow or continue down the main road any further.

"So, this is where I have to go. Do you live near here, or farther away?" I asked, catching his attention. He seemed to have been lost in his own world in his head. I gave him an inquisitive look, happy to be accommodating if I had to be.

"Oh, uh, no I live down this street too." he said, shaking his head to clear it. I still sometimes wonder what goes on in that head when he spaces out. Probably the same things as me, actually.

Still, by some miracle of convenience, we lived on the same street. It clicked in my head that his was the house at the end of the street that had the moving van there the past week and the big _SOLD_ sign hanging out front. My excitement was barely containable. This meant, as newly minted best friends, we could hang out more often as it was only a two minute walk to his house, instead of the twenty-five minute one to Emmy's. Lucky still was that Emmy was allowed to ride her bike by herself unlike me, so she could join us at Jaune's house more easily.

"Hey, that's cool!" I said, keeping my tone cool and collected. I slowed to a stop on the sidewalk, in front of my house. "So, I live here. Uh, I guess I'll see you tomorrow at school?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I guess. Bye bye, Weiss."

I did the first thing that came to mind. I don't know why I did, I don't know what universal force compelled me to do so, but it happened. I gave him a hug. A quick one, over in a flash, but a hug none the less. "Bye, Jaune!"

With that, I turned and skipped up my walkway, and into my house. I don't know how long he was left perplexed by it, but I was once told at minimum five minutes. I still don't know why I did.

Maybe I wasn't hugged enough as a small child? Maybe. I just figured it was the correct way to say goodbye to a friend, especially one I was classifying as my new _best_ friend. Although Emmy never got that sort of treatment. I decided in that moment that I would hug more people. Hugging was something I was missing so incredibly badly in my life. Every time I would say goodbye to one of my friends…

I would hug them.

They were my friends! They deserved it! Having new friends meant you had to change a little bit about yourself. So that's what I changed. And now Emmy and Jaune got hugs, the latter still confused by them, even months after.

But, enough of that.

That was how the first day of Third Grade went for me. I met Jaune Arc on that day.

It was the greatest first day of school of all time.


	3. Chapter 3

**May 10** **th** **, 1997**

Spring, I guess.

Just sort of snuck up on us. It was Saturday. The first properly sunny day of the year. It was warm out, too. A full twelve degrees. Hooray. But just because we were wearing our coats, doesn't mean we weren't having fun. Especially seeing the significance of the day. It was Jaune's birthday. He was turning nine.

 _Finally._

Emmy and I had been nine for _ages_ now. Me since February and Emmy in April. Jaune took his sweet time getting older. Not that we made fun of him or anything. Very often.

So today, on Jaune's birthday, we were hanging out in his back yard, on his swing set. Never in my life had I ever seen a swing set with _eight_ swings hanging from the bar, but this one had them. It was completely ridiculous. We sat in the middlemost seats, swinging back and forth. None of the other party guests had showed up for his party yet since it was so early, but Emmy and I were his best friends, so we _had_ to be there first. In fact, I had been there since eight in the morning. We had been playing the copy of Mario Kart his sisters had bought him until Emmy showed up.

And now we were outside.

Swinging.

My hands were dirty from the oil on the chains, but it didn't matter. It was just oil. I wasn't afraid of no oil.

"Why is your hair white?" Jaune asked, catching my loose attention. I had been focused on a butterfly that had landed on the grass in front of the swing set. I looked over and blinked a few times.

"What?"

He asked again, since I hadn't heard. "Why is your hair white? You never told me. I thought you only got white hair when you're old, like my grandma."

Not an unexpected question, but I was sure I'd told him.

"Did you forget? I have poliosis." I said, swinging harder to try and beat Emmy.

"Polio?" he said, swinging to a stop.

I laughed, leaning back on the swing and ending up upside down on the fore-swing. "No, po-li-os-is. I means I don't have colour in my hair. The doctor says since my mom has it, I have it."

"Does Winter have Polisis too?" he asked, watching as Emmy jumped from her swing and landed in the sand. "'Cause she has white hair too."

"No, s'cause she dyes it. Right, Weiss?" Emmy interjected, climbing back onto her swing. I nodded.

"Yeah, she said it was because she didn't want anyone to make fun of me. No one ever did, so now she just thinks it's cool to have." I ran a hand through my hair, only realizing too late that my hand was dirty. Whatever, I was planning on playing outside most of the day anyways. "You remember that Whitley doesn't have white hair?"

"Oh. Well, I think it's cool." he said, rubbing his nose. Had I been more attentive, I would have blushed. "What colour was it supposed to be?"

"Brown. Or blond. My father's hair was brown, mom's was blond. She went white like me when she was a kid." I gave a really hard swing, and jumped off right at the top of the arc. I sailed through the air, like a flower petal falling to the ground. I landed boots-first and sunk into the sand. "Dude, I just beat your distance!"

He looked at my like I had set his favourite toy on fire. "Not if I can help it."

I sat down in the sand and acted like a marker for my distance, sneakily scooting further back from my actual landing spot so that he'd have to jump a further distance. Emmy jumped from hers, not even coming close to my landing distance. Jaune seemed to have a lot more fury in his swinging, his back a good eight feet off the ground during his forward swings.

"Don't hurt yourself" Emmy said, shaking her head. This was probably the result of Emmy's mishap with the swingset last month when she had fallen and sprained her wrist trying to win our little jumping competition. Jaune laughed. "Oh, I won't. Just you watch!"

We did. He jumped, right at the top of his jump. He landed, feet-first in the sand.

/…/

We sat around, patiently waiting. Well, semi-patiently. Jaune and I were busy trading Pokemon and having them beat each other up, and had been for the last twenty minutes. I wanted to evolve my Machoke, and Jaune wanted to evolve his Kadabra, and we were conveniently the only people we knew with Gameboys and the expensive link cable. Even if the clear plastic game console actually belonged to one of his older sisters.

"Jaune, your crew sucks. You have no hard-attack moves for any of your Pokemon." I said, perusing Kadabra's moveset.

"What are you talking about? My guys are perfect. Have you seen my Bulbasaur? Man's best friend."

I made a face. "Bulbasaur is a frog, not a dog. And I _just_ wiped him in two moves. I think you should put him in storage and get someone worthwhile."

Somehow, he was not deterred. He gave me a sly look, the first one I had ever seen him make. It was nice to see, actually.

"Sure, sure. But you forgot that leech seed is a thing."

"What?" I said, looking down at the screen. I hadn't noticed my Charmeleon had been slowly losing health. The turn ended. The little health bar slowly sapped down. My eyes widened. What was happening to my poor Charmeleon?

"Leech Seed: Plants a seed on the opposing Pokemon that drains one sixteenth of the health of the target." Emmy said, reading out of the Nintendo Power magazine she had her nose in. "He's in for the long game."

So it seemed. I hadn't expected him to be using such a good _strategy._ Good move, Jaune. Good move. "That's not… fair?"

"It's in the game" he shrugged. Curse him for using superior gaming skills against me. Time for retribution, I thought, pulling back my slowly dying Charmeleon and putting out _his_ Kadabra. He seemed to have anticipated this. _My_ Machoke was now out.

"Hey, look, Russ is here!" Emmy said, almost falling off the couch as she turned to look out the window. Good, a distraction. It gave me opportunity to put my Gameboy down and get up, pulling us both away from a battle I knew I would lose. Not today, I wouldn't.

"Russ is here!" I said, lifting Jaune off the supple corduroy fabric by his shirt collar. He followed almost automatically, as he knew his resistance was futile. I was both taller, stronger, and older than he was, so it was only natural that he'd obey my every command. I could get used to this.

We all ran to the door to greet Jaune's only other friend. We had planned on inviting more of our friends, but then, inevitably, we realized we didn't have any more. This would have to do. Since I was the first to the door, I pulled it open with great force, startling poor Russ.

"Hey, buddy!" I almost yelled "Come on in, it's party time!"

His weary smile usually meant he was okay with me basically yelling in his face. I reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him inside and out of his sandals in one motion. His mother seemed amused by my antics.

"Have fun, sweetie" she called after, retreating to her car were his dad sat waiting. I always liked Russ's parent from the few times we hung out at his house. I think they were punk rockers or something, with the amount of eyeliner and eyebrow piercings they each had. They were young parents too, and had only been highschoolers when Russ was born. But, his dad wore a suit to work and called everyone 'sir', and his mom now managed the RBC down the street.

"Weiss, slow down" he said as I yanked both him and Jaune back into the family room. Much to my own surprise, Emmy had taken over both Gameboys and was smiling smugly back at us. "Oh you guys having a Pokemon tournament?"

"Nah, me'n Jaune were playing." I said to the short, brown-haired boy. "Emmy, what are you doing with those?"

"Beating your Machoke with his Kadabra. Oh, and I traded back and now you have Alakazam and Machamp. Not even sorry." she said, dangling the two devices from her finger. My eyes went wide. You weren't supposed to do that with the cables. "Why, did you bring yours, Russ?"

The boy nodded, pulling out his own Gameboy, complete with his name written in Sharpie on the back of the case. "Yeah, actually. You guys been here long?"

I launched myself at the couch, almost landing in Emmy's lap. "Since eight."

"But I thought the party was at noon." he interjected, sitting down in the chair across the table. Jaune sat down at the end of the couch much more normally, so I put my feet in his lap and used him as a leg rest.

"It does. We just showed up early 'cause I didn't want to sit around for four hours." I said, reaching out for the coffee table where the very small selection of gifts sat. I grabbed a square package that had been neatly wrapped in green paper. Emmy's gift. Jaune caught it in one hand. "Let's get this party started!"

So I started the party with throwing stuff. Jaune opened Emmy's present first, a collection of word puzzles in a textbook-sized book. Jaune was a nerd, so his excited reaction was completely expected.

"Aw, sweet!" he said, opening it and flipping through. "Thank you, Emmy, this is excellent. Now I have something to do on the Nova Scotia trip."

"Whatever, nerd" she said with a restrained giggle. I knew she genuinely cared, of course. This book had been on his Christmas list last year for Santa and he hadn't received it. I was gonna buy it, actually, but Em beat me to it.

"Here you go, dude" Russ said, handing box over he had pulled out of his schoolbag. It was wrapped in brown paper, covered in little scribbles of Sharpie and highlighter. "Have fun."

Jaune opened the comparatively large package with a look to Russ. The cover came off neatly, in order to keep the artwork intact. All of our eyebrows went up as Russ casually leaned back in his seat like nothing was the matter at all.

"I..." Jaune said, having difficulty containing his laugh. "...this is… amazing."

Out of the wrapper came a dark blue and turquoise _gun_ , in it's open-face box. _Sharpshooter II,_ it read, in bright yellow lettering. With very minimal force, the plastic blaster came free from the twist ties and found a comfortable grip in Jaune's right hand. He stared down at it with awe.

"My parents never let me have one of these. They said it would make me violent..." his voice trailed off as he loaded one of the soft foam darts into the top barrel. He grabbed the priming handle and pulled back, the loud click of the spring like a whip in the quiet room as we all waited patiently for him to pick his first target. "...Thank you, Russ!"

He pointed it at me. Thank you Russ, indeed. He had just started a lifelong obsession Jaune had with shooting me with Nerf guns, one that continued through all of schooling and even after. Thanks for that, Russ. You're a real pal.

"No!" I squealed as the trigger was pulled, and the little yellow dart bounced off my hands as I tried to block it from my face. Jaune, Russ and Emmy laughed at me as I tried to cuss him out the best a nine-year-old could. "Jaune, what the damn-hell?! How could you!"

He laughed so hard he _cried._

"I'm sor- sor-" he said, having a fit and unable to speak through the tears. I _fumed_ back at him.

"I'm supposed to be your best friend, and the first thing you do when handed a gun is to shoot me?!" I said, grabbing a pillow off the couch and whomping him over the head as hard as I could. Emmy ducked out of the way as I swung again. "You _betrayed_ me!"

I tossed the pillow at his face and sat down with force, crossing my arms and pouting. "I'm so mad, I don't even want to give you your present. This is _your_ fault, Russ."

"C'mon, Weiss, give 'im his present." Russ said, wiping actual tears from his eyes. "I honestly didn't expect you to be the first target."

"But I _was!"_

Looking back over at Jaune, I stuck my tongue out in his direction. "Gimme that."

I grabbed the gun and chambered a dart. Jaune was too busy trying to hold his sides in to notice. I grinned evilly at him as I cocked back the pull handle. I fired. With a pop, the dart flew forward and got caught in his messy hair.

 _Immediately_ I burst out laughing as he looked up into his hair, searching for the dart. So hard, in fact, that I dropped the gun onto my toe. Which might have hurt if I hadn't been laughing so hard. I think Emmy grabbed it next, I'm not really sure, my eyes were closed and watered up. I eventually came down from the high with a cough, wiping my face.

"Arright, fine, here" I said through a chuckle, handing over my own well-wrapped little gift. "Stupid Jaune an' your stupid gun."

"I'm sorry" he said with a smile.

"No, you're not!" interjected Emmy. I feel like she was to blame here as well, not taking my side from the beginning.

Jaune pulled the wrapper off. As upset as I was for the shooting, I really did want to know what he'd think of his gift. I was at the edge of my seat. _All_ of my pocket money had gone to this, and I had to get my sister to drive me to a store in Montreal to get it. I really, _really_ hoped he liked it.

"Oh… my" he said, holding up the cardstock box. "Contra. In its original package..."

He looked over at me, a geniune smile on his face. "Thank you.. how did you know I wanted this game?"

I shrugged, doing my best 'whatever' face. "I just knew. It's a nine-year-old game. Just like you." He had mentioned wanting a copy of Contra a few times when we were at school, saying he had a copy once that belonged to his eldest sister, who took it with her when she moved out. Finding an original in its box had been harder than I had anticipated. I had to _call_ a bunch of game stores to see if they had any old copies. Only one did, and I had to use my limited knowledge of _Canadian_ french to ask for it.

"How much you pay for it?" he questioned, carefully removing the grey plastic cartridge from the sleeve. I didn't really want to tell him, and it had taken all of my skills with a shirt steamer to take the _19.99$_ sticker off the front.

"Uh, like ten dollars" I lied. "It really wasn't that bad. They had it at Carlingwood."

I knew he didn't believe me, but I was committed at this point.

"So you're gonna let me be your player two. Since you shot me." I said, gently kicking him. "It's only fair."

He nodded, probably thinking about shooting me again. "Sure, you can be my player two. Alright, I think it's cake time."

Cake?

"Come on, guys" he said, standing up and putting the game down on the table "Cake is in the kitchen."

CAKE.

"After me!" I said, jumping up. I had entirely forgotten that birthdays meant cake. I should also mention, I love cake. So, I basically _tumbled_ into the kitchen and up onto a stool at his counter. I was fully planning on eating all of the cake. How on earth I had forgotten is completely beyond me, but it had happened. The rest of them followed me into the kitchen much more casually.

"Geez, someone's excited. It's just cake, Weiss," Russ said, pulling up a stool opposite me.

"It's not just cake, it's a way of life. You wouldn't understand because you don't drink enough milk." I said, grabbing a glass and reaching behind me to the fridge. Jaune sat down directly next to me, handing me the box of three and a half percent milk. Emmy followed last, sitting up on the counter and examined her nails.

"I'm lactose intolerant." came the reply. Eh, whatever. I waved him off as Jaune spun around on his stool and tried not to fall off. "But you make a fair point, cake is pretty good."

"Damn right".

Now the issue of where the cake was came to mind. It wasn't anywhere in the kitchen that I could see. This was a problem. I kicked Jaune under the counter and gestured to the place in front of me where my cake should have been.

"Oh, right." He said, standing up again and returning to the fridge. "I forgot that my mom's not home. We have to fend for ourselves."

Out of the fridge came a case of opaque beige plastic. Circular, and about a foot and a half in diameter. A large cake, then. My eyes grew wide. My mouth watered. Also, how does one forget that their mother isn't home? Like, what the heck? I mean, having seven other women in and around the household, one of them nearly thirty, I suppose it is possible. The top came off the cake box as Jaune set it down. Mysteriously, out of nowhere, Emmy had produced a box of blue and green candles and stuck them into the cake, in a neat circle.

My hands shook unconsciously in anticipation. Russ handed me a fork as Jaune grabbed the barbecue lighter from the top cabinet.

"Anyone know how to use this?" he asked, waving the little thing around. "No one ever trusted me with one."

"No kidding, holding it like that." Russ said, grabbing it from him. Like an expert, he struck the flint and light all nine candles. "And there you go, dude."

We sang him happy birthday, surprisingly all on key on the first try, despite Emmy's accent and Russ's scratchy voice.

After a pause to make a wish, Jaune blew out his candles. The smoke trails fluttered around. "So what'd you wish for?" I immediately asked.

"Not telling." he said, brandishing a cake knife in my direction. "That would ruin the point of a wish. Now, which piece do you want?"

I looked down at the round circular cake, reading the little yellow icing that spelled out ' _Happy Birthday Jaune'_ on the top. "Give me the one that says 'Jaune' on it. Since you shot me, and all. I want to get back at you the most delicious way possible."

He laughed, doing his best to cut the cake and give me the whole _Jaune_ piece. Before he even put it down in front of me, I had dug into it with my fork. It was cake time. And I was hungry.

/…/

"Oy, scooch over" I said, trying to bump Jaune over further on the edge of the mattress. "There's too much glare on the screen. I can't see."

"That sounds like a personal problem" came the reply from Emmy on the couch behind us. Her and Russ were in the middle of a battle in Mario Kart on Jaune's sister's Nintendo 64. "Why don't you sit in his lap?"

"EW, NO!" I yelled, throwing a pillow at her as hard as I could. My favourite projectile missed by a whole person, hitting Russ instead and making him drop his controller. I pushed Jaune aside with my hip while he laughed at me. Once again, _not_ fair. "Emmy, don't be gross!"

Not that me yelling would stop her, she seemed to have a fixation with me and Jaune. Something about me ' _like-_ liking' him or something. What an absurd idea, _really._ Jaune was my best friend. Not anything more, _ew._

"Alright, you ready?" he asked, gripping the faded square controller in his hands. "You can be Bill if you want, I don't mind playing Lance."

The NES hummed along with the eight-bit soundtrack on the loading screen. The sounds of Emmy being hit with a shell and her scoff of disapproval from the couch made it even better. Emmy needed to be _stopped._ Maybe I would slip Russ a fiver to keep her in last place. Too bad I didn't carry cash.

"Yeah, okay. I thought you said _you'd_ be Bill, though" I said, pushing the start button and watching the first stage open up. Jaune was already shooting. I followed suit.

"It's okay, you're on that side of the T.V. anyways. It's whatever. Hand me some Cheez-Its." he said, grabbing a few out of the box I provided. I guessed he made a good point. I waited for him to be wrist deep in the box, before giving the box a shake and spilling a few of the cheddar squares on his lap. "Hey! My p.j.s!"

I laughed, taking the lead on the screen and barging ahead while he took a moment to clean up the cheese dust. The dark basement smelled like cheese anyways, what was a little more?

"I'm not inviting you back, meanie."

Not true, I knew of course.

Although, this was the first sleepover I had ever been to, and I really hoped to do it again. Even better, this was the first boy-girl sleepover I had ever been to. Emmy's parents weren't so into having me over at her house, and other than that I didn't have any friends, so sleepover opportunities didn't come along very often. This was a good day.

"Hurry up and run, dummy." I shoved some Cheez-Its into my face, stealing Jaune's Pepsi to wash it down. I wiped my hand on my pyjama pants. "Do you wanna lose our lives?"

He sighed, and we plowed forward in a haze of little bullets. Bill and Lance were not going to be stopped. From the sounds from the other T.V, neither was Emmy. She seemed intent on breaking Jaune's controller with how hard she was gripping it.

But playing Contra, in the dark basement, after eating _waaay_ too much cake and sub-par pizza from the Little Ceasar's down the road, really made me feel good. Like, it felt like where I was supposed to be. My best friends, comfortable atmosphere, old video games, food. I had found my happy place.

And it was good. Jaune was good, Emmy and Russ were good. Everything was what I wanted. I wasn't gonna give this up, no sir. I was gonna hold on to these friendship as hard as I could, just like Winter had said. She had told me that Jaune was 'good for me' or something like that. That he had broken me out of my shell. Preposterous, I think. I was just the same, if not better now that I had him.

And as the night ended, and we finished the first two stages of Contra, having to leave the game on pause overnight since there was no save file, we settled down. It was almost eleven, after all. Of course, as nine-year-olds we didn't have any prior obligations in the morning like _jobs_ or church or anything like that. It had just been a long day. Emmy and I had been up since the very early morning bothering Jaune, so we were tired.

I finally got down onto the mattress. Emmy had said she was going to sleep next to me to keep the boys away. Fine by me, my parents said I could go only if this was the case anyways. Boys were gross, anyways. Cooties 'n all that. Russ and Jaune took up real estate on the pull-out couch we had all had to pull out together. It was nice in the dark. I used to be afraid of the dark, but having my two best friends and Russ there with me, I was much more comfortable. I settled in, hugging one of the stuffed animals Jaune had let me borrow. What a nice guy.

"Goodnight, everybody!" I said, trying to subtly wiggle away from Emmy.

"Goodnight, Weiss" came Jaune's almost lilted reply.

As I began to slip away into my dreams, I could hear the serenity in the room. It was like my own little lounge with my friends. I felt _safe._ I felt _loved._ I couldn't describe it with a word, but I know I wanted it to continue. And it was all because I had met Jaune. At that moment, I almost wished we didn't have the boys-with-boys and girls-with-girl rule in place at this sleepover.

Almost.


	4. Chapter 4

**October 31** **st** **, 1997**

A pretty good day.

I was sitting on my couch in the living room, staring at my backpack. I had been told to wait here for a moment while my sister conversed with our mother in the kitchen. I could hear them from my spot.

" _Mother, can I borrow your credit card?"_ she asked, in a fairly snarky voice. Not an uncommon question from my sister to our mother, I learned. But this time was for a good reason.

" _Whatever for, Winter?"_ came the obvious reply. Usual reasons included new makeup, new shoes from eBay, or some new piece of electronics for her room. Somehow, Winter always got what she asked for. Today was different, though.

" _My sister won't shut up about taking music lessons, and I need her out of my hair. I need it to put a deposit down."_

I could hear our mother sighing. I flinched at the word choice from my sister, even though I knew it had to be done that way to get anything from our mother.

" _Oh, don't be so mean to her. But yes, it's in my purse in the front hallway."_

" _Ugh, finally. I'm sick of her bothering me."_

More sighing. I understand that my sister needed to put up this facade of angst and brutishness, especially with mother, but it still hurt to hear. Even if she didn't actually mean a word of it. With what anyone else would have called and uncharacteristic skip, Winter came back into the room with the little green card in hand and a smile on her face.

"There we go, kiddo." she said. I smiled back up at her with a toothy grin. "I'll call them when they open at four, alright? Now, what'd we agree on?"

I scooted over as she sat down on the couch and opened the brochure for the music school. "Uh, piano? Or guitar. No, wait, we said drums, right?"

"Hold your horses, kiddo" she said with a chuckle. "I don't think you have the _time_ to learn all three, and I don't think I can convince mother to buy you all three instruments. Now pick one, so I can sign you up."

I perused the brochure again. I really didn't know what I wanted, I just knew that I wanted to be a better musician than Jaune. I certainly wasn't doing it because we had a competition, or anything. And certainly not because I was fiercely and aggressively competitive.

"I guess… piano" I finally decided "When do I start?"

Winter laughed quietly down at me. "You start after I sign you up and you get assigned a teacher, silly."

"Can you do that now?" I wanted in. I wanted to start now. I must learn.

"They're not even open yet!"

Curses.

"Well, can you make them open?"

"Weiss, just..." she paused to brush some of her fringe out of her face. "I know you're excited. I haven't even called yet, let alone paid. You have plenty of other things to be excited about today. Like all the candy?"

Right, the candy! I lit up like a torch. "Oh yeah! I'm gonna get so much candy tonight."

A smile. "Are you gonna share?"

No, of course not. I was going to hoard it like a chipmunk in my cheeks, never letting it out of my sight until I had eaten it all, not even stockpiling for the winter. Winter wasn't getting any, is what I was saying.

"I guess so. If I must." I lied. Like I said, _my_ candy. "Also, before I forget, thank you for doing my makeup."

She reached over and ruffled my hair. "No problem, kiddo. You look like a princess ought to. Hey, speaking, shouldn't you be heading off now?"

I looked down at my little plastic Pokemon watch. Reading each of the little red hands individually. It was nearly four, and I had promised Jaune I would be there at quarter to. In my excitement for having been signed up for music lessons, I had dilly-dallied. Now I was late!

"Right! I have to go!" I almost squealed, jumping up from the couch. I shouldered my backpack, being as careful as I could to not damage the contents. The wig alone was a full thirty dollars, and I wanted to make sure it didn't break before the first use. "Bye, Winter!"

"Weiss, hold up a second!" I didn't have a second. "Take my phone and call me here at home when you're done, okay? I don't want you riding home in the dark."

I stumbled back over in my haste and took the little white flip-phone from her. "O-okay!"

"I'll come get you and your bike in the Catalina, okay? Go have fun with your friends, now."

She gave me a quick hug while adjusting my collar before gently pushing me towards the door. Not that I needed the push, I was already off like a light and into the garage. I impatiently slammed the garage door opener button on the wall and jumped onto my bicycle, clicking my bright pink helmet on for safety. I made sure the straps didn't touch my cheeks and rub off the concealer and copious amounts of blush that had been painted on.

With the door finally in the up position and out of my way, I kicked the kickstand up and shot off, nearly lifting the front wheel of my vibrant yellow bicycle as I raced down the driveway and onto the sidewalk with a hard left across the edge of our lawn.

As I cranked along the sidewalk avoiding the deeper cracks in the old cement, I tried my best to do a sweet wheelie. The front end only came up a few millimetres at most, but since no one was around, I counted it as a success. At the end of the sidewalk was a curb, the perfect candidate for jumping from. I pushed towards it, standing up on my pedals to create maximum acceleration. The chain on the little yellow bike groaned hard as I upshifted to increase my speed. I was prepared to fly.

"Oh wait, maybe I shouldn't..." I eased off and sat back down, gently grabbing the brake.

The bike rolled smoothly off the curb as I crossed the intersection. I wasn't up for risking it today. I had enough bicycle-related mishaps in previous years to want to have another, especially on a day like this when my appearance was paramount. Couldn't go smashing up my knees or face again. I had _just_ taken the bandages off from where I had pulled most of the skin off my knee, and I didn't want a repeat performance of that.

One of the neighbours from up the street was out on his lawn, checking his decorations and replacing some light bulbs in the little orange pumpkin lights as I sped past in a blur of yellow. I tried to wave hello to him, but I failed. Oh well, we'd be back around in a few hours to relieve him of his candy anyways.

Gosh, living right down the street from my best friend had so many advantages, the greatest of which was not having to cross any major traffic intersections on the way over, unlike the trip west to Emmy's place. His house eventually came into view at the end of the road, fully decked out in orange and black with a plethora of carved pumpkins lining the edges of the driveway. I skidded to a stop in front of the house, careful to not tip over. There, right at the end in a little pile with three others was the one I carved the day before.

The dumb, toothy grin smiled up at me, and Russ's carved exclamation point on _his_ pumpkin made it seem like mine was smiling with emphasis. Jaune's little skull and crossbones had been placed on Emmy's uncarved, painted pumpkin. She had refused to carve hers, so we gave her an old set of acrylic paints that Jaune had found in his basement, and she had painted her version of Van Gogh's _Starry Night_ on the orange canvas. How nice it was, actually. She was a surprisingly good artist, even with old supplies and a pumpkin.

Remembering his code, I let myself into the wide two-car garage and parked my bike next to his mom's battered Previa. I of course shut the door as I made my way into the house and carefully stepped over Emmy's boots in the hallway. I've never seen someone, especially a nine-year-old get so worked up about having their shoes stepped on as Emmy. I kicked mine off into the tray haphazardly, bouncing into the house with my backpack in tow. There was commotion in the kitchen I could hear. Commotion without me! Absolutely unheard of.

"Hey!" I said as I burst dramatically through the door and slid to a stop on the linoleum. "You guys started without me! Why would you start without me?"

Jaune and Emmy looked up from the kitchen counter and the mass of fabric they had been mulling over. Emmy had a pin cushion in her mouth and the sleeve of Jaune's costume with Jaune's arm still in it in her hands.

"Forry" she said, spitting out the needle-filled foam strawberry. "Idiot here ripped a seam putting his blouse on, and now he won't stop fidgeting!"

"That's 'cause you keep poking me with the needle!" he said, clear evidence of pain on his face. "Stop poking me with the needle!"

"Then stop _moving!_ Jeez, sit still or I'm gonna keep poking you!" Emmy was clearly aggravated. I sat down across from them at the counter and dropped my bag to the floor. "You're like a monkey, calm down!"

"But it _hurts!_ You're so _mean!"_ I had to laugh at him. It was hilarious.

"Maybe you should get smaller hands so they don't break the cuffs next time." Emmy was really digging in to him.

"Here, want me to do it?" I offered through a fit of giggles.

"No, I got it" Emmy said, dragging Jaune's arm further from me. "Don't interfere."

"I want Weiss to do it!" Jaune said, clearly holding his tears back. I felt bad for the poor guy. I know they get along and all, but Emmy's always been a little hard on him.

"I'm doing just fine Jaune, be quiet."

With a huff and a laugh, I reached across the table and grabbed Jaune's arm, pulling it out of Emmy's grasp. I took the pincushion and the needle she had been using from her hands as Jaune did his best angry pout.

"Here, let me..." I rolled up the sleeve. There were a few obvious marks where Emmy had got him, either on purpose or by accident along his wrist. Poor guy. "You stabbed him so many time, Em."

"He kept moving."

"'Cause you kept stabbing me!"

"Don't be such a baby!"

This was going in circles. And it was _hilarious._ As carefully as I could I rolled the sleeve back down his arm and arranged the cuff so I could fix it properly. Thankfully the needle had been threaded for me, so I lined it up with the edge of the fabric. It would have been nice to have a dummy arm to do this on instead of Jaune's actual one, but we didn't have time for that. I started a basic blind hem, crossing over on the inside of the sleeve. Unfortunately the shirt was a little on the tight side to be doing this properly, but I gave it my best shot, going very slowly.

"So is Russ here yet or is he late like usual?" I asked in a hopeless attempt at quelling Emmy's angry face.

Like magic, he popped up from the couch in the adjacent living room. "You called?"

I was, of course, surprised. Not enough to jab Jaune in the arm, but enough that I dropped the needle onto the table, unthreading it.

"Why are you here so early?" I asked, blank-faced.

He shrugged.

"I was tired of you lot arriving before me and then making me look lazy." He said, flopping his arms over the back of the couch and resting his head on them. "So I walked home with Jaune after you and Emmy left. And _voila,_ I'm here first for once."

I was impressed. Disappointed that no fun could be made of this, but impressed by his foresight.

"Okay, okay" I said, holding my tongue in my teeth while I continued the needling of Jaune's shirt. "That's fair."

"So what are we gonna do until candy time?" Emmy asked, getting up from her stool and having a peruse through Jaune's fridge. She grabbed a juice box from the door before sitting down again with a thump.

"I thought we could order pizza and watch a movie or something," Jaune said, intensely focused on my sewing. He clearly trusted me, just not enough to leave me alone with something pointy and his arm.

"What movie?" Gosh, Emmy was intent on getting every piece of information as she could out of him today. Wasn't all of his arm blood enough? "I won't watch anything scary, like The Exorcist or anything like that."

Okay, that was fair. Jaune and Russ liked horror films to such a degree that it often took over our hang out sessions on weekends. Emmy would run away to the other room, and we would all stay and scream our little heads off. Most of the popcorn kernels that littered the space under the basement couch were from us dropping our bowls in fear.

"Nah, I was thinking more like Beetlejuice or something Halloween-y." he said, rubbing his nose. I was almost done with his sleeve, realizing my fingers were getting cramped from holding the tiny needle so tightly.

But Beetlejuice and pizza sounded good. They sounded _really_ good.

"Can you guys wait until I finish with Jaune and get my costume on?"

Russ folded his body over the back of the couch completely and stood up from the floor. He was in his costume already, looking sharp in his pristine Hercules getup, complete with gold chest piece and gold fabric mini-skirt. His prepubescent lack of any muscular structure made his sleeveless arms even funnier in retrospect, but he did flex at us anyways. Plus, the blond-dyed hair was a good look on him too. He almost matched Jaune, actually.

In hindsight, this was probably the point that started Russ's obsession with hair dye. After this I don't really remember a time when his hair was its original dark brown except for one very specific and very jovial day. But today was a day for candy, and the dyed hair was the right fit.

"Okay, there you go." I said, finally letting go of Jaune's sleeve. He pulled away, examining it. "It's not perfect, I know. It's the best I could do with the time I had."

"Looks pretty good, actually. Thank you." He sent Emmy a glare and a pout, receiving a stuck-out tongue in response. These two, I swear. "D'you want me to order the pizza now, or wait until we're all dressed? Mom left me money in the fridge."

Right, Jaune's mother had a thing for leaving money in weird places. Last group party we had she'd left the pizza cash in the cutlery drawer by accident. I love his mom. She's just the greatest.

"I guess wait. Or no, do it while I go change. It might take me a few minutes to get into my dress." it was my turn to glare in Emmy's direction. "The only one of us to wear one tonight."

It was also my turn to receive the stuck-out tongue from the Iranian Queen. We watched her depart with a huff, grabbing her tote bag from the floor and disappearing into the bathroom. I may have been a little irate by her refusal to dress up like the rest of us. Russ was Hercules, Jaune was going to be The Prince from the original Snow White movie, and I was gonna be, well, Snow White. We had _tried_ to get Emmy to be Megara to make the sets match, but _no,_ she _had_ to be someone else.

She was going to be Aladdin. _Aladdin_ of all things. She had the whole street urchin getup and everything, complete with a stuffed Abu for her shoulder and the purple vest. The whole deal. Her mom had made it for her by hand, using some seriously expensive sheer muslin. Eh, I was sure I'd get over it soon enough when my own costume was on. With a huff, I tossed Jaune the phone from the carrier on the counter.

/…/

There was pizza. And it was good.

 _So_ good.

Much better than I was anticipating, anyways. The Milano's place in the shopping district had just delivered us two of the most excellent pizzas I had ever tasted. Maybe my bias here comes from not ever having pizza back in Germany, or possibly from the last few times us ordering from Pizza Pizza instead. Milano's had been on a whim after finding one of their flyers in the scissors drawer when I went to cut a loose thread on my dress.

Now, that's not to say that there isn't any pizza places in Germany, of course there are. It's just that we never went out to eat or ordered anything in during my brief stay there. My parents never really did that, the whole spending money unnecessarily thing. Especially on us. So now that I was here, I took every opportunity to eat as much of the round faux-Italian spaghetti-flavoured-pie as I could.

Today's order was two mediums, one being a meat and cheese only extra-protein-y special, and the other being a veggies-only _boring_ pizza just for Emmy. Okay, not boring, required. Emmy didn't eat meat, specifically avoiding pork which made up most of the toppings on the other pizza. Leaving an entire medium pie for one person might have resulted in a gastrointestinal issue, so Russ helped her finish it during our movie.

Speaking of, Emmy had made us promise her that Beetlejuice wouldn't be scary in any way shape or form. I had of course neglected to mention the ways shapes and forms of the monsters from the Netherworld took on when terrorizing the heros. Her face was absolutely sheet white and pressed into the back of her little stuffed monkey, most humorously during the scene when Adam and Barbara Maitland stretch out their faces in an attempt to blend in with the monsters. Man, Tim Burton really had it going on in the late eighties. There was some serious cinematography to be had here. And I loved it.

By the time the movie and the pizza had been finished, six o'clock had rolled around. Already in my dress and shoulder-things, we were ready to go.

"Who wants candy?" I shouted to a chorus of three people cheering. "And who wants chocolate?"

Only Jaune cheered. Russ and Emmy weren't big fans of the stuff. Every time it was mentioned I was shocked. What kind of person doesn't like chocolate, and more importantly why am I associating with them?

"Who's ready to kick Halloween in the butt?"

More cheering.

"Alright!" I smiled. "Let's go get us some candy!"

I nearly kicked the door open into the dim evening air. Out into the night strode our four weirdos dressed in full Disney. As I bounced down the walkway, the bright orange lights from Jaune's house bathed the driveway in a dim, spooky orange glow that made the whole experience even better. The chilly air felt invigorating on my arms as I made the harsh turn at the end of the driveway and leaped over the pile of pumpkins. Jaune followed along, his purple velvet cape billowing along behind. Emmy and Russ didn't jump the pumpkins. Losers.

"Come on, hurry!" I cheered, skipping up up the first driveway, passed the many pumpkins Jaune's neighbour had lining their own walkway. The tree in the front was filled with fake spiderwebs and orange string lights. I grabbed Jaune's hand and dragged him up to the door. The huge rubber spiders weren't scary _per se,_ but I wasn't taking any chances.

"First one, everyone!" I reached for the doorbell. "Prepare your candy sacks. We're goin' in hot."

The doorbell rang inside the house, making a super-creepy noise. I shivered, hearing the approaching footsteps. The handle clicked, and started to open with a groan of rusty hinges.

"Trick or Treat!" we all yelled.

At Austin Powers, of all people.

"Groovy costumes, kids!" he said, prepping his bowl of candy for our presented bags. Cliche, sure, but I thought the white cravat and blue velvet suit were fitting for our first house. It could only go up from here.

And you know what, it did. Every house following the first just increased in spookiness from then on. More and more animated witch dolls, skeletons, mummies. The whole shebang. And our sacks grew heavier and heavier, no laughing in the back please. By the time we reached just the end of mine and Jaune's street, we had collected probably about twenty pounds of candy _each._ I had considered calling my sister just to come and relieve us of the weight, but I didn't. We were strong enough to deal with it. And besides, Jaune had offered to carry my bag for me, like a gentleman. He was as sweet as the two sacks of sugar in his hands.

I remember one house in particular. It was around the back of our line of houses, still well within the arbitrary boundaries my sister had insisted we stick to, but on a corner lot. The homeowners, I think the Masons or maybe the Slevinskis, I don't remember, had made an entire haunted graveyard in their corner-lot-sized back garden, with every cliché horror movie trope present and accounted for.

I gripped my prince by the arm as we entered, the smoke machines billowing the maximum spook around our feet. Emmy didn't follow us into the backyard. She was _scared._

"Oh come _on,_ fraidy-cat" I cheered, trying to not be shooketh from my princess boots. "It's not _that_ bad" It was that bad, I just wanted to look brave.

"I'm _not_ going, I don't care."

"Aren't you supposed to be the prince of Arabia or something? Princes are brave and can handle a little graveyard." came the logical interjection from Russ. Yeah, what he said!

"I'm staying here and you're staying with me!" She grabbed his arm and held poor Russ back from following us in. He seemed upset, but more by being ruthlessly grabbed and not because he didn't get to go in.

I guess some of us still have reasonable fears, so I let it go at that point. Jaune and I turned back into the backyard. The spook factor was high, and I was gonna take it head on. Just because I was crushing Jaune's hand to death didn't mean I wasn't prepared.

"Alright, if they won't come, we can do this on our own." I beat my fist against my chest to assert dominance. "Right, Jaune?"

"Yes, right. We don't need them, anyways."

Of course not. Besides, with my knight in shining velvet cape, what could go wrong?

The graveyard was dark, as it was now like eight o'clock at night. There were glowing eyes all around us as we made the slow circle through the graves. Each one, surrounded by mist, spelled out the demise of people with humorous names like John Ohno and Philip Isdying. I guess that was to take some of the scary away for the kids, but the hanging bloody bodies in the trees sort of made it worse.

One of them dropped from the tree, snagging on its noose. I screamed. _Piercingly_ loudly.

And basically jumped into Jaune's costume with him.

" _What the hell is that?!"_ My bodyshield stayed put, whether out of compassion for me or out of fear, I'm not sure. I was sure he could feel my heartbeat through my skin, costume, wig, and eight pounds of makeup. In fact, I'm fairly certain that my sister back at my house could feel it as earth tremors.

"It's just a dummy, dummy."

I should have run him through with his own plastic sword and left him as a decoration in this yard. "Besides, we're here for candy. We can do this."

We? I calmed slightly, letting go a little, but not unlatching myself from his fingers. I was holding on like my life depended on it and I'm not ashamed to admit that. If I let go, what if he was murderized by a bunch of goblins? Or ghouls? Or worse, goblin-ghouls?! I couldn't bear the thought.

It was his turn to pull _me_ along. How he had the gumption to do so in the circumstances, I'll never know, but I'm glad he did. When we finally made it to the end of the graveyard and to the back door of the house, we were greeted by Death himself.

Done up in full cloak and wielding a scythe larger and sharper than most industrial husking machines, the homeowner, again whose name escapes me, gestured silently to the bowl of candy placed on a plinth next to him. Above it was a sign.

 _You have passed the trials and tribulations of Death._

 _You may collect your reward and return to the mortal world._

And in that bowl? The highest, most excellent rewards imaginable. Full. Size. Candy bars. My eyes lit up. All of the spooky scary skeletons we had encountered in the last few minutes were worth it. Just for one hundred gram bars of beauty and deliciousness that was Oh Henry King Sized. Fit for a king, or even a princess in a wig and her bestie in a purple cape.

We got three each.

Suck it, Emmy and Russ.

We just won Halloween.


	5. Chapter 5

**February 1** **st** **, 1998**

The waiting room air felt stingy and dry. In fact, the whole basement of this building sucked. The beige walls and the beige carpeting completely matched the beige chairs and beige table in the room. Two other students sat in the room with me, their parents blank-faced and bored looking. The amount of life and enthusiasm in the room could be measured with a micrometre.

The other students and I were all wearing our matching black t-shirts with the little hummingbirds on them, the signature of the school of music we all attended. Nowhere in the rules of the school did it require us to wear them to lessons, we clearly all felt compelled to wear them anyways. The other students seemed less willing to do so, even though as I said, it was not mandatory in any way shape or form.

Today was the first actual day of real music lessons. For the past three months, I had been learning musical theory once a week in a classroom here at the music school basement, learning how to read notes and clefs and keys and all that sort of stuff. I had sorta been hoping that I would get to play a real instrument way back in November, but alas I suppose theory was just as important as actual playing skill.

"Marty?"

My attention was grabbed by the instructor who had popped his head out from the hallway in the back of the room. He wore _massively_ thick circular glasses and a tucked flowery Hawaiian shirt. I recognized him as the oboe teacher who's room was next to the classroom where we all learned theory. You know, as obnoxious as the oboe sounds normally, in the hands of this nerdy looking guy it sounded like this magical instrument of sound and beauty. Like a flute, but with soul.

One of the students, clearly Marty, stood up and followed the teacher into the back room, carrying a little black vinyl case in his hands. The aforementioned oboe. Ugh, the sound of that instrument was going to suck for the first little while until poor Marty got used to the weird two-piece mouthpiece. Eh, I could deal with it until then.

The sound of a door clicking open grabbed me next, emanating from back down the hallway again. Out of it came a tall and lanky man in a brown blazer and white khakis. His blazer had a little silver hummingbird pin on the lapel. He seemed to be that middle ground between tired and excited that only the most caffeinated teachers seemed to get at this hour of the day on weekends. He looked down at his clipboard, which was _way_ over stuffed with papers and music books.

"Weiss?" he asked to the room. Granted, he looked straight at me as he did it since I was the only girl student in the room. So unless the other boy's name was, I dunno Tiffany or something, I was the logical choice. "Ah, good to see you're nice and early."

I stood up off my chair. "Hi, I'm Weiss! It's nice too meet you!"

I did my best to be personal with the man. My sister always told me this was the best way to make friends. She chuckled at me from the chair behind me.

"Well hello, there. I'm Mr. Callows, and I'll be your teacher. If you like to follow me, I'll show you to your personal studio." He spoke with a lilted voice, almost musical in nature by itself. He turned and proceeded back to his room with some long and weird strides. "Do follow me when you like and we can get sta-arted!" he called.

I turned back to my sister, sitting in the chair next to mine. She had her arms crossed and had been observing me with a bemused smile on her face. Her hair was tied up into a bun today, affixed to her head with two sharpened blue Staedtler pencils. Man, I don't think I'll ever properly understand her weird sense of style, but there it was, on full display. I guess if she needed to suddenly make a note of something she had two ways of taking record.

"Are you gonna wait here?" I asked, in a questioning tone. "Can you hold my coat for me?"

"Of course, sweetheart, that's what I'm here for." she said, taking my coat from my hands and gently folding it into a square. "I've got an hour to kill, I might go upstairs to the Starbucks or something."

I felt my shoulders drop a little bit. "You're… gonna leave?"

She sighed. "Of course not, I was just gonna get a coffee or something. You're so melodramatic, Weiss-Cake. Besides, I've got this to keep me entertained."

She pulled my Gameboy out of her inside pocket. My eyes went wide. How _dare._

"Hey, that's mine!" I said, betrayed by my own flesh and blood sibling. "How did you get that out of my room?"

"There's no lock on you door, silly. Besides, I brought along your copy of Super Mario, I'm not gonna overwrite your Pokemon file. I'm not a monster." I felt more at ease knowing that my guys were safe. I was afraid I'd have to resort to sibling murder right then and there for deleting my save file. "Now go play some music. I'll buy you some hot chocolate when you're done, okay?"

"Okay!" That got the fire back in me. I very instantly forgot about being robbed of my precious game device after such a beautiful promise. I turned and bounced past the other student still in the waiting room and followed down the hall where my teacher had gone.

I popped into the room where he was sitting on a stool in the corner. In the middle of the room sat a glossy black upright grand piano, sitting pretty and polished. I had suddenly lost my outgoing attitude as the reflection of my face stared back at me in the veneer finish. I felt uncomfortable as I stared at the huge instrument.

"Please, have a seat." Mr. Callows said, noting my hesitance. "She won't bite."

I carefully moved forward, my school-provided notebook tightly gripped in my hand. I pulled out the wide stool and sat down on it, marveling at the wide keyboard. I barely knew what to do as the little _Steinway & Sons _logo stared back up at me, embossed in the gold script above the keyboard. As a distraction, I looked away and to the walls surrounding the instrument. They were covered in those black foam spike things, floor to ceiling, and they had a bunch of little trinkets and things shoved into them. I instantly recognized a plush Pokeball and an Eevie doll on the left wall. It put me at ease.

"Right, shall we get started?" he asked, reaching behind him and grabbing an electric keyboard off the floor. "Oh, of course, my mistake. Here's your new workbook for the course."

I took the book he handed to me, and opened it to the first page. On it were a few bars of music with a simple C major scale on it, ascending from middle C up to the first octave and back down again in quarter notes, with the note letters written below the staff.

"Right, stick 'er up on the ledge and we can begin." I did as I was told. "Also, now that we're in the classroom, you don't have to refer to me as 'Mr. Callows', I don't like that Hummingbird requires me to address myself as such and wear this stupid name tag. In here you can call me Tyrian, it's fine, whatever."

"Okay..." I said, turning to look at him. Now that I had a moment to do so, he actually seemed sort of familiar. "Wait, do you work at my school?"

He chuckled, sliding a pair of thin-rimmed glasses onto his nose and opening a teacher's version of the class workbook.

"Do you go to Barr-Haven Public?"

I nodded.

"Then yeah, I do. I teach fifth and sixth grade music and sixth grade phys ed. You're in what, grade four?" he said with a smile, playing a short melody on the white plastic keyboard.

"I'm in Mrs. Ambrose's class." I said, looking back down at the stark eighty-eight keys.

"Oh yeah, Peach's class. Oh, you must be the Kraut, then. She tells me you don't pay attention in her class."

Okay, he wasn't wrong. I had been recently spending more time chatting with Jaune and Emmy instead of actually listening to the lessons. I was still getting As, of course, just not actually bothering to pay any sort of attention to what she said. This was why my progress reports went home with _needs improvement_ on them. The report cards were fine, though, Mrs. Ambrose just thought I needed discipline. Bitch.

"Yeah, I guess not."

"Heh, well..." he said, finishing his little melody with a flourish. "I know how boring her classes are first hand, so I don't think you'll have a problem here with me."

I later learned that Mrs. Ambrose was a hippie, still living out the 'Good Times' from the sixties and still believed that the Nazis, correction the _Germans as a whole_ were the bad guys, and the nickname she had given me was _not_ in good spirits. But today I was still oblivious. I think my ten-year-old mind wouldn't have been able to deal with such a revelation.

"Okay, lets get to tickling those ivories!" he said, in a chipper voice. "Well, actually they're a glass-like material, not ivory. That would be illegal and immoral."

I pretended to laugh, unsure of what he meant by that. I looked down at the long line of white keys in front of me and tentatively placed my hands over them.

"Right, lesson the first. I know you've taken the theory class, so I'm sure you're familiar with keys and chords. Now, can you tell me, without looking, where middle C is on the staff?"

I pointed to my notebook. "The one right below, with a line through it."

"Excellent, excellent. Now, do you know where the note of C appears on the keyboard?"

I looked down. It was an easy find.

"Here, next to the pair of black keys."

"It's like you know what you're doing. Now, if I asked you to play me middle C on there, where would it be?"

About halfway along the keys, naturally. I gave the eighty-eight little white keys a once over, gauging approximately the centre, and played the C key that was almost there. The note rung out softly.

"Perfect. Now, I'll assume you knew it was _middle_ C because it was in the middle of the piano," he said, playing the note on his own keyboard. "But as pianists, we deal with notes as part of wholes, called octaves."

I nodded. This was part of my lessons before.

"How many octaves on a standard eighty-eight?"

"Seven and a bit." I played the lowest-most C followed by the highest most. As I did, something clicked in my head. Like the notes had just become permanently ingrained.

"That's right. We note them using subscripts on the page. The first one to the left is C-subscript-one, and the highest is C-subscript-eight." I doodled down what he said onto the open page of my workbook. "Of course, we don't say 'subscript' each time, we can just say C-one to C-eight. Now, middle C is which one on the piano, again?"

I looked back down, and played the key again.

"Right, and what C would that be?"

I gave a quick count of the ones that came before it.

"C-four." I said, matter-of-factly.

"Very good. C-four is our mainstay on the keyboard, everything we do and everything you play stems from there. Since you're young and you have short arms, you'll only have to deal with C-two through C-six for now, much the same way I learned." He said, playing a quiet four-octave arpeggio. "Now that we know the range we'll be working in, let's work on hand position."

He scooted his chair over so I could better see his hands and his keyboard.

"Step one; don't slouch. The folly of any good musician is an arched back, so sit up, back straight." he said, demonstrating for me. I followed easily along, sitting up and trying to look like one of those concert pianists I remembered from old movies. "Very good. Now, the hands are important. You want to be relaxed, but purposeful. Now, shake out your hands."

I gave him an inquisitive look.

"Excuse me?"

"Shake 'em out. Make 'em nice and spindly!" he said, giving me a demonstration of some fairly vigorous hand-shaking. I supposed I could roll with this. I gave my hands a wringing as well. "Very good, now, is all the stress out of your hands?"

"I think so." I said, wiggling my fingers in front of me to show the level of relaxed I was.

"Now, put your fingertips on the keys like so," his hands lay over his keyboard very elegantly, actually. "Keep your wrists in line with your hands, or else you'll get carpal tunnel. And make sure your fingers have a slight curve in them. The keys don't go down particularly far, so you don't have to get all spidery on them."

That was actually a good analogy, I thought. I tried to do my best impression of just what he had taught. "Like this."

"Okay, good. Now hands off and slouch."

I did.

"Now, piano position."

My hands came up, my back straightened, I relaxed my arms.

"Again."

We did this a few times, both of us slouching and unslouching to try and get me into correct posture. After about fifteen minutes of this hand and back exercise, we were ready to begin learning on the first page of the workbook. So I thought.

"Right, perfect. When you get home, I want you to practice just that. Getting into playing position. Wrist injuries are the number one leading cause of pianist death." he said, grabbing his teacher's book.

"Wow, seriously?" I said, pulling my hands away and hiding my wrists. I certainly didn't want to damage myself and my precious, piano-playing wrists. He chuckled at me in a friendly, knowledgeable way.

"No, 'course not. Now I should ask, are you left or right handed?"

I held up my left hand.

"Alright, that's good to know. Now, let me break you out of your comfort zone. Everything we're gonna do for the first bit is with your right hand. Playing position!"

I brought my hands up to the keys.

"Okay, see the staff on the first page?" I looked to where he pointed. "That's a simple two-octave C-major scale, very easy, and very dull, I know. Start with your index finger on middle C."

"Like this?" I placed my hand loosely on the keys as instructed, index finger on the forth C from the left.

"Right, now, play each finger on each key, and..."

I didn't let him finish, walking my hand all the way up the scale, crossing over with my thumb every fifth note, before walking right back down again to middle C and ending with my index finger again. He paused, completely perplexed.

"...that was correct. How..." he scratched his head, pulling his spectacles off his face. "Do that again."

I once again walked my hand up the scale and back down again, ending on the index finger. "Am I doing something wrong?"

He shook his head. "No, no not at all...it's just… I didn't teach you that yet. How do you know the crossover so easy?"

"How else would I do it?" I said, doing the scale again. My right hand felt weird moving by itself, without my left hand following. He laughed silently, putting his glasses back on his face.

"Most of my first-timers either lift their hands and play every four notes, or they go the rest of the way with just their pinkie fingers." he crossed his arms over his chest. "Here, try that again, but with your left hand, and start on C-two."

I brought my other hand up and gave it a whirl, starting on my pinkie finger.

"Huh." was all he said for a moment. "D'you..."

I sat, frozen and waiting for him to figure out what he wanted to say.

"D'you remember what two tones are above a base for a major chord?" he asked, looking at my hands.

Of course I remembered. "The major third and major fifth."

"How many semitones above are each?"

"Four and seven."

He pointed at my hands. "Play me a C major chord."

Simple. I played the chord as instructed. He paused, confused.

"Play me an A minor."

I moved my hand, and played the chord. The piano rung out very softly and very smoothly. He seemed to be overwhelmed by me playing two chords. He grabbed another notebook from under his chair, uncapping a marker and scribbling something down. I waited patiently as he furiously made some kind of drawing.

"Play me this." he turned the page around and showed me what he had drawn. Five horizontal lines, with the bass clef written to the left, and three whole notes. One just below the staff. One on the first space, and one on the second space. The lowest note had a sharp written next to it.

I brought my left hand up to the keys and let the note ring out. Tyrian almost dropped his notebook.

"How did…." he stopped, before leaning back and setting his electric keyboard across his knees. "Close your eyes."

I, as should be expected, did as I was told.

"Name this note." he said, and a note rang out from his synthesizer.

"E flat two?" I guessed.

He looked at me.

"Huh." he scratched his head. "I think you have perfect pitch."

"What's that?" I asked, tilting my head. He smiled at me.

"Scooch over, I think you'll like this." he said, setting his keyboard down on the ground. I slid over as he moved onto the edge of the wide square bench. He placed a song book on the rack, over top of my student book. "You play the melody part. I trust I don't need to explain the key to you?"

"No, Mr. Callows, sir."

He laughed at me for using his surname, placing his hand on the keys. "Alright, I'll play us in. Just keep following the top staff, okay?"

I nodded.

"'Kay, here we go. Two, three, four..."

/…/

"So, how was class?"

I leaned back in the big sofa-like front seat and put my feet up on the dash. "Was alright."

"Did you learn anything cool?"

I shrugged. "Nah, he didn't really teach me anything. We just sat around and played some music."

Winter frowned in my direction. "You played music?" she asked, turning half at me. "On your first day of class?"

"Yeah…" I said, flipping aimlessly through the new student notebook I had been given. "...It's a music class. What else would we have done?"

"Uh, fundamentals of piano?" She scratched her head with a gloved hand, making the sound of creaking leather. "Like how to sit and move and breath and all that? What happened to all of that kinda stuff?"

"Oh, he did teach that. He told me I was doing it right, and I'm supposed to practice it." I flipped to the back of the book, where I had slid a few sheets of music. "We played this after."

As we came to a stop at a red light, she took it from my hands. As she looked over the page of music, she went silent, and her face contorted in confusion.

"Weiss, this is Mozart."

I blinked. "What?"

She scoffed, and tossed the papers back at me. "I refuse to believe you played _actual Mozart_ on your first day of class. There's no way."

The header line of the page just said 'Piano Duet F Major', written quickly in pen. Nowhere on the page did it have any composer name or anything. "This is really Mozart?"

"Yeah, that's K497. That's from seventeen eighty-six." She explained, flexing her musical knowledge from when we used to live in Germany. "Which part did you play, then?"

"Uh, the upper staff." I said, shuffling it back into the confines of my workbook. "I can show you when we get home, if you want."

My sister, my own flesh and blood, _laughed._ She didn't believe me! I would show her, and I would show her _good._

"Uh huh, sure." she said, a chuckle coming to her lungs as she pulled into our subdivision. "Right after I show you how to split an atom with a Popsicle stick."

She kept not believing me as we pulled into the driveway again, the big wagon almost knocking me out of the seat and onto the floor as Winter mounted the curb. As we came to a stop, I collected my things from the floor and stepped out, my boot almost sliding away on the icy pavement.

"Watch yourself." came the overwhelmingly helpful voice from behind me. Yeah, thanks. Stupid non-believing stupid….

We went inside the house. At present, no one was home. Our parents were out doing I don't know what and had taken our little brother with them. Good thing, really. He had spent the last few days fussing over not being allowed to play Carmageddon on our dad's computer in the side room. That's what he gets for being eight and an ass. But anyways, we were by ourselves tonight.

"Okay, show me, and I'll make you dinner." Winter said, hanging her jacket up on the coathook next to the door. I wrinkled my face at her in response, kicking my snow boots at the tray. My coat followed it to the floor, and my sister gave me another scoff as she picked it up and hung it up with her own.

I dashed into the house, my notebook clutched tightly in my hands. I was gonna show her and I was gonna do it now. Into the family room I went, my sister following me lazily over. At the back of the wide room sat an antique player piano that my father had bought at an art auction and never used. As quickly as I could, I pulled the bench out and sat down behind the keys and slammed the cover open. The sheets of music went everywhere as I opened my book.

"Okay! Listen up!" I called, setting them on the rack and scooting forward. Winter sauntered over and leaned up against the side of the piano. I sat up, with my back straight, shoulders relaxed, and fingers resting gently on the keys. "Prepare to be amazed!"

I started playing, reading along the top line of music. Well, the top two, actually. The melody and harmony lines of the upper staff as he had highlighted them. My hands moved slower than his had, but to be fair this was only the fifth time I had gone through this song, so I was no expert or anything. As I got to the end of the first page I paused, flipping it over to the back side. I missed a note as I started up again, but I caught myself and continued on.

"What th- how're you..." Winter said, jolting away. "That's not..."

She leaned down and checked my feet, clearly assuming that I was using the player piano's self-playing mechanism to fool her. Joke's on her, of course. My short legs don't even reach the pedals.

"Told you." I said, flipping the page again to the third one. My hands kept slipping a little, and I had to focus on keeping my stupid wrists level. "I'm not great or anything. It was only one lesson."

"Move over." she said, pushing my butt sideways and into the lower side of the keys. She pulled the little cabinet next to the piano open and grabbed one of the many music books that were inside, grabbing one from the back and setting it up on the rack in front of us. "Here, this is like, the one song I know front to back. You play the melody, I'll accompany."

"What, you're not shocked anymore?" I asked, scanning the page quickly. Seemed simple enough. It was even in C major!

"Oh no, I'm in shock." She said, getting comfortable. "But I wanna know if you're really this good. Go ahead, you start."

I did the first arpeggio kinda slowly, and the flourish that followed as well. This many sharps and flats was a lot, after all. Winter started in with the lower melody as I started with what would be the singing part. We played slowly, not fully following any set tempo.

"This is amazing…." she said, laughing. "I am actually astounded. You really are amazing me right now and I don't know how to process this, so I'm just gonna keep playing."

The beginning riff of the verse came, and I did my best to do the runs up and down, with the quick chord changes in between. It was a hard song for someone as beginner as me. Billy Joel seemed to enjoy the arpeggios in his musical writings.

"I am ceaselessly amazed by you, kiddo," she said, putting her free arm around me. "I don't understand you, but I'm glad you _are_ you."

"What're you talking about?" I asked, getting more into the song. "The notes are on the page. How hard is it to take them from the page and play them on the keys?"

"Incredibly! This is considered the hardest instrument to play!"

"But all the notes are literally right in front of you!" I started using both hands again to play the secondary part as well, pushing Winter's hand away from the keys. "It's like doing a test with the answer book in front of you!"

This made my sister laugh. After this, Winter started calling me _maestro_ and insisting I play music for and with her whenever I could. Apparently being able to play a song listed in the songbook as 'intermediate' difficulty was a huge feat of accomplishment.

Piano came easy to me, I don't really know why, it just sorta clicked with me. Every song I picked up, I could play pretty much first try every time, sometimes with minor difficulty. But most of the time if I could get a paper copy of the song, I could play it.

I never really got into the whole improvisation thing, but I could still do reasonably good impressions of jazz pianists basically by ear. Like one time, Winter came home from work, this was much later in life actually, and she though I had put an Oscar Peterson album on and was playing it too loud. Then she gets into the back room where the piano was, only to find little ol' me, playing away. She was shocked then, too.

But I think I've always been a musician, inside and out. I mean, I don't think I ever wanted to do it professionally, but I always had a knack for it. It's my thing. Besides, Jaune was always impressed by my ability behind the keys. And we would often play together, him on the strings and me on the piano. It became a part of us we couldn't shake.

Music is my life. I am music and it is me.

You know?

I mean, don't even get me started about singing.

That's a whole different ball game.


	6. Chapter 6

**July 1** **st** **, 1998**

"All day pass." Winter said, one arm out the window and one up on the top of the wheel. The lady at the kiosk window clicked her register a few times, before turning back.

"Twelve dollars."

Such a pointed exchange, I know. I yawned, watching my sister hand over three blue bills from her wallet. It was eight in the morning, and I was exhausted. This was Sand Banks Provincial Park, which is a three hour drive from Ottawa, so you can extrapolate how early we got up this morning.

"Thanks," came the bored reply of my sister, as she took her change and tossed the little reciept up onto the Pontiac's expansive dash. We rolled forward into the park with a cloud of blue-ish smoke in our wake. My eyes hurt from being awake for so long and since such a god-awful time in the morning. But it was was worth it today. It was Canada Day. There would be fireworks. So hell yeah I was excited.

"You two awake?" she asked, staring at us from the car's rearview mirror. "We're here now."

I looked over at Jaune. He was asleep against the door panel, his head rested on a rolled-up towel. My Cinderella towel, actually. I poked him in the ribs. "Wake up!"

"Ack!" he awoke with a jolt, almost falling out of his seat. Funny thing about old cars and my father's in particular was a distinct lack of seatbelts. They were an option back in seventy-three, an option that had not been selected by the car's previous owner. So watching Jaune slip off the slick vinyl and onto the floor was both hilarious and a guarantee. "Why would you do that? I was having a nice dream!"

"I don't care," I said, sliding over and poking him again. "We're here, and you need to be awake. You can sleep after lunch. Before we go swimming."

"But I wanna sleep _now."_ He emphasized his point by rolling up the towel again and trying to rest his head on the door.

"Nope." I reached over and grabbed the towel out from under him, making his head hit the glass with a thunk.

"Ow! What the hell?!" he hit me with a pool noodle that had been on the floor, right in my face.

I retaliated with the rolled up towel, thumping him in the chest. Twice.

"Children, behave." came the stern voice from the front seat. "You can horse around when we get onto the sand."

"Yes, Winter." we said in unison, sitting down on our respective sides of the bench.

"Alright, good. Now, you two gotta help me look for a good parking spot."

I sat up on my knees and looked out the window. The line of trees broke into the long, skinny parking stalls that were along each side of the road. Most of the spots were filled with grey minivans that had likely been here overnight. Passed the first bunkhouse we went, and into the second parking lot.

"How about right there," Jaune said, gesturing out his window. "Next to the walkway and...whatever that is."

"That's not so bad, I'll see if we fit." she said, loping the big wagon around.

Now, this ' _whatever that is_ ' that Jaune was referring to was one of two things, number one; parked far too close to the line in the gravel, meaning the seven-foot-wide Pontiac that basically belonged to Winter now wouldn't fit with room enough to open the driver's side doors, and two; probably the coolest car I had ever seen in my life, and that's saying something.

This old, Japanese-imported Land Cruiser stood tall and proud on _massive_ knobby tires, both the front and back were outfitted with huge, black steel brush guards, and a snorkel snaked up the side of the windshield. The army-sand body was suitably dirty and scuffed, displaying what looked like a solid life of adventure. The truck's roof rack was a mess of boxes, coolers, ropes, and a shovel. This old machine had a story to tell, for sure. Also, as an interesting note, it was wearing Argentinian license plates, so the story was a _long_ one.

"Am I clear on your side, Weiss?" I checked out the window to make sure she had enough room to spare. Barely. The whole of my side of the car was on the line.

"Yeah, you're good." I said, shuffling back around.

"Alrighty, then! Let's get unpacked!" she said, shutting off the car and trying to step out of her door. "Right. Can't get out. Stupid wide-ass car."

"What happened to no bad language?" I interjected. Winter looked back at me with her best 'shut-up' glare as she slid across the front seat to the passenger door. Thank goodness for bench seats, or she'd have been trapped by the adventure truck in the next spot. We all got out on my side and circled around to the back of the car. Up went the glass and down came the tailgate with a metallic thump of vintage iron.

"Okay!" Winter slid some of the bags backwards and handing me two of them. "Take these, and grab the umbrella. Jaune, you get the noodles... and lunch, and I will take the cooler and the swim stuff."

I grabbed what I was told to, and Jaune jumped back in to grab the long foam floaties from the floor. With the umbrella in my hands and two bags of clothes over my shoulders, I was in no position to defend myself as he went ahead and smacked me on the top of my head with the purple one.

"Hoy! Why?!" I yelled it him. "I'm gonna get you for that!"

"Gonna have to catch me first!" he said, spinning around and taking off up the path that led to the sand. Oh, I was gonna catch him. I bolted after, my sandals having little traction on the soft dunes. As I came over the hill, I gave a quick scan for where the fool could have gone.

No fool should be left un-smacked, you see.

"C'mere! I'm gonna use you as the umbrella support!" I yelled, chasing the noodle boy across the sand.

My legs were gonna give out if I kept running with all this stuff in my arms, and as it turned out, Jaune was just plain faster in a straight line than me. Which didn't make sense, as I had beaten him in the fifty-meter dash during the track and field day like, three weeks ago. Here, we were both laden down with stuff, but somehow he was still winning. Curse that boy. Curse him!

"Jaune, wait, slow… slow down..." I panted, running low on steam. "We gotta...gotta wait… Winter..."

I collapsed into the sand, face first as my left leg gave out. Early morning sprints were not my thing, apparently. I could hear Jaune laugh. Like, _really_ laugh. He started snorting, even.

"So, we gonna square up here?" he said, sauntering back over and squatting down in the sand next to my head. "You alright?"

My lungs ached. "Kill me." I rolled over in the sand, off of the umbrella that had broken my fall. My back now was covered in the course, irritating stuff. And we'd been here seriously for like two minutes. Good start to the day.

"Guess we're staying here. Good choice. There's no one else around." Jaune said, taking my bags from me and standing the umbrella upright. I lay my arm across my face.

"I hate you for making me run. And I hate you for hitting me with a noodle." I coughed up at him.

"Here, I'll give you a noode so you can get back at me." he said. I opened one eye to see if he was being genuine.

He was not. He hit me again.

/…/

I crunched my Froot Loops.

"This is odd for me." Winter said, taking a spoonful of her own.

"Why's that?" Jaune asked, eating his toasted bagel.

She swallowed with a quiet grunt. "Never before have I eaten breakfast, in a swimsuit, on a beach before. It doesn't feel right. I mean, I've never been in a swimsuit this early in the morning before!"

"No, eh?" I said, digging my feet into the sand idly as I ate. "What's the latest you've been?"

She tilted her head back. "Well, maybe this counts as early, actually. Or late. It was one-thirty in the morning."

"When the heck was this?!" I said, amused. "When were you swimming at one a.m.?!"

"Back in January," she paused to swallow and put her empty bowl down. "I went to a frat party with two of my friends, and there was a hot tub up on the roof of this guy's apartment. Probably not a safe place for one, but whatever. Not my house, not my problem."

I remembered the time she meant. "Hey, but you said you were going over to your friend's to study!"

A spoon was pointed in my direction. "Yes, that's what I said."

"Why would you lie?"

"Do you _really_ think mom n' dad would have let me go to a Carleton frat party? Number one, I don't even go to that school, and number two, _it was a frat party._ I think there was a whole liquor store worth of booze there."

I blinked. "Okay, fair point. By why'd you lie to _me?"_

"Couldn't risk you telling. Even by accident."

"And telling me _now_ is okay?"

Winter reached back into the cooler and pulled out an orange juice box. "It's been seven months. I think there's just about nothing they can do about it now. Besides, I know Jaune won't tell. He's afraid of our parents."

"What? Nah, he's not." I turned back to Jaune, who had finished his bagel and was watching the waves. "Right, Jaune?"

"Nope, Winter's right. Your dad scares me." He looked back over at me, making a funny face. "I don't trust sentient mustaches."

Winter snorted her juice out her nose.

/…/

The little monster truck bounced aggressively along the sand. I spun the steering wheel to the right, watching the little front tires turn and dig in. The truck pivoted, wheelying forward as I grabbed the trigger as hard as I could. The tall springs soaked up each impact with the rough sand as it sped past my feet, tossing sand from the rear tires with gusto.

"Hey, watch where you're driving" Jaune yelled as I drove the little black truck past him, sitting in the sand. "I'm building, here!"

"Sorry!" I called, completely not sorry. I would have promised that it wouldn't happen again, but let's be honest. It would absolutely happen again.

I kicked the truck around in a circle on the wet ridge of sand near the water, throwing two long rooster tails from behind my new favourite toy. Along with a fantastic, brand new Casio synthesizer complete with forty-five different instrument voices, Winter had bought me this fabulous little Japanese radio-controlled montser truck for my birthday this year. It had come in a box full of pieces with assembly instructions, all in Japanese mind you, with a new radio and servos included with it. Taken me something like three days to build the thing. It was the greatest thing to cause havoc with.

So I did just that, driving straight into the side of Jaune's sand castle. The little castle came to pieces, exploding in a mist of sand and sea shells. Jaune just looked down at the little black pickup as it sat where his prestigious fortress once stood. He looked over, a glare coming to his face.

"What did I _just_ say?" he asked, holding his shovel out in front of himself like he was brandishing a sword.

"Watch where I was driving."

"Yeah. What do you call _this?"_ He pointed down at the truck with emphasis.

"I was watching, though. I knew exactly where it was going." I grabbed the trigger again, and the little electric motor spun the rear tires with full force, trying to get the heavy vehicle un-stuck from the castle remnants.

"Oy!" he yelled as sand went everywhere. Again, not even sorry.

The truck broke free as he hit it with his shovel, taking off down the sand again. It only made it about thirty feet or so before coming to a slow stop. I squeezed the trigger again. The truck moved no more. It was out of battery.

"Aw, man. It's dead." I said, my shoulders drooping. "Eh, well. Guess that's done."

I strolled slowly over to it and picked it up by the front bumper and brought it back over to where Jaune was sitting. I sat beside him.

"You out of juice?"

"Yeah," I said, pulling the body pins off and lifting the not-quite-a-Ford body off the chassis and unplugging the battery pack. Jaune stopped rebuilding his castle for a minute to look at what I was doing.

"Did you bring a second one?" He asked, poking one of the big rubber tires.

"That _was_ the second one." I slid the body back on and replaced the clips.

"That's a shame." He said, going back to his castle. "Here, you're gonna help fix this."

I was forced a shovel. I guess it was only fair. I had destroyed his castle, and now I was responsible for building it back up.

"Arright." I slurred, setting the truck and radio aside. The little castle had been only a few buckets wide, so it took us only about five minutes to get it back to a form we could work with. One bucket of sand at each corner, and two small ones in the middle for the main gates. "Hey, you know what this castle needs?"

"Mmwhassat?"

I grabbed his other bucket, a worn out blue one. "A moat!" I said, excitedly. A moat would be the only logical addition to such a fine institution. I dug the bucket into the sand, carving a deep trench across the front area of the castle. With the bucket full of sand, I re-distributed it to make walls between the castle towers in each corner.

"You gonna fill it with water, too?" Jaune asked, carefully sculpting each tower so it would be rounder and sturdier.

"Of _course,"_ I said, digging the second side of the moat. "A moat without water is just a trench, and trenches can be overcome with rappelling equipment. So yeah, it's gonna have water. And sharks."

"I thought sharks couldn't survive in fresh water." he said, gesturing to the water. "And I'm pretty sure the Great Lakes are fresh water lakes."

I made some more walls, placing a few broken seashells along the top edge of them. "Bull sharks can swim in fresh water, and they're really big so they should scare away anyone who wants to invade our castle." I dug the back side trench with gusto.

"Since when is this _our_ castle?" he asked, building some sticks up as wall reinforcements.

"Since always, Jaune. I'm the queen, and you are a loyal knight of the approximately square castle."

"Hey! It's _clearly_ my castle! You tore it down!"

"Yeah, I conquered it. Then I took its population, i.e. you, and had them rebuild the castle for my new reign." I carefully explained. It was rightfully my land now. "You've never played Risk or Catan?"

He looked dumbfounded. "No! My castle!"

"Nuh uh. Martial law under my monarchy." I dug the final trench. "And now I'm gonna fill the moat of Schnee Castle. Excuse me."

I stood up, walking calmly away from his irritated grumblings. He should know how the rule of my kingdom works, he'd agreed to become a knight of my table two years ago. Besides, now that I was older, my kingdom's land had expanded to all of Ontario. Any castles built on that land were now mine, no questions and no arguments. Unless he wanted to go to war over it. He would loose any war with me, though. I was still taller and stronger than him, so he would have to yield. Ha.

I got to the wet sand at the edge of the water, careful to step over the bar of broken shells that sat at the waves' edge. I dipped my toes into the _absolutely frigid_ waters of Lake Ontario. Like seriously my _god_ was it freezing. Even though it was July. I stepped in deep enough that the waves lapped at the cuffs of my cargo shorts, dampening them to a dark brown colour. My feet cramped as I got a whole bucketful of the icy water, before getting out of the painful situation as quickly as possible.

Once I got back up the long beach to where Jaune was building, I knelt back down in the sand, the soft material clinging to my wet shins. I noticed as I got back that he had carved a large 'J' into the outside of the walls. That would be remedied soon. Without saying anything, I carefully poured the large bucket of water into the trench, watching it fill in the four sides to about an inch deep. Not nearly enough. I stood up again.

"Hey, can you get me some more shells and sticks while you're down there? I need more for the floor," he asked, carefully laying out some small pieces of driftwood in the castle courtyard.

"Yeah, no problem," _Traitor. "_ Of any size or just anything?"

He shrugged. "Eh, anything will do."

I nodded, taking off across the sand again.

By the time we had finished making the castle whole, it had grown by about a foot in each direction, with a full moat that only needed minor refilling every so often. The Front Gate had a proper archway that Jaune had made using some bucket tricks, and each of the corner towers was twice as high and were complete with little ramparts around the top. It had come together quite well, actually. If I do say so myself.

"Hey, you two!" Winter called as she sauntered over, three glass bottle in her hands. "You guys want some drinks?"

She sat down on her knees in the sand next to our castle. Her flowery bikini was a certainly stark contrast to her usual high-necked blouses and t-shirts she wore to work. But swimsuits were not a thing either of us wore very often anyways. There was not really any opportunity to. We didn't own a pool or hot tub, we never went to the community centre next to my school, and we never made family day trips to the beach or water park.

Maybe it's a German thing, the desire to avoid water. Or maybe it's the aversion to group activities. I dunno. Back in Hamburg, there wasn't any community centre, and the nearest beach was in the North Sea. So swimming was never a thing for us, and hence neither were swimsuits.

"Yes, thank you!" I sad excitedly, taking the clear bottle of orange soda.

"Thank you, Winter," Jaune said, cautiously taking his own lime green soda. "I didn't know you brought these. Mom says I can't have sugary drinks."

"Pshaw, you can have whatever you like, you're ten. Besides, where is your mother?" she asked, using all of her rather brutish rugby-strength to pop off the metal top without a bottle opener.

"Back in Ottawa..."

"Exactly," she said, tipping her root beer up and taking a drink. "She gave you to me for the day, so my rules. Drink up."

"Okay." he opened his using a corner of his shirt. Our bottle were mercifully twist-offs. "Do you like our castle?"

Winter stopped halfway through carving her name into one of the walls with her finger. "Uhh..."

She'd been caught red handed trying to take over. Not on our watch.

"You guys wanna go swimming?"

A classic distraction tactic. Unfortunately, it worked.

/…/

"Again, again!" I cheered, paddling up to where Winter was standing. She laughed, obliging me and turning around. Her hands gripped up under my armpits and she lifted with all her might, tossing me a good six feet away.

" _Whee!"_ I yelled as my body hit the water again, near where Jaune was floating in his inner tube. My sister's morning rugby practice certainly gave her adequate me-throwing abilities. I had seen a few of her games, and with the way she could toss around girls twice her size, I knew I had to get myself tossed into the water here at the beach.

We were way far out in the water, where the shoal was only waist deep again. Well, waist deep for my tall-ass sibling of course. It had been a bit of a swim for myself and Jaune to get out to this point, as the water was too deep to walk through. We had shared the inner tube, crammed up against one another like sunburned sardines. This part of the beach was nice, though, as the tides had made a ridge of sand about half a kilometre out from the land. Not many other people were out this far, choosing the shallows as a safer place for their own children.

But we were not Winter's children. I mean, obviously. So she had had no problem getting us through the deep water to the ridge of sand out here. The water was nice and cool this far out, unlike the warm, stagnant pools that collected up at the water's edge, so my sunburn felt better.

"Again!" I cheered, swimming up to Winter. She chuckled down at me.

"Does Jaune want a go?" she asked, grabbing his tube and floating him closer.

"Nah, m'okay." He said, using her hip to kick off from and float slightly away from us. "I don't really like swimming very much."

Party pooper. After Winter have me another toss into the water, I swam back over to Jaune. He seemed far to complacent. And far too dry. I frowned. He looked up at me through his sunglasses. "What?"

"Mm, nothing," I said. An awful, wonderful idea filled my head.

"Arright." He closed his eyes again. I cleared my throat to get my sister's attention. She glanced over. I wiggled my eyebrows at her. Her wiggled back. I looked down, then emphasized my gaze at the waves. This wicked, evil grin came to Winter's face.

Clearly, she had the same idea as me. _Excellent._ She pushed her way through the waves, over to the right side of Jaune's tube, and I took up residence at his left. My hands found the underside of the blue rubber ring he was lounging in.

"Hey, buddy..." I said, making him open one eye at me.

Winter gave me the signal.

" _GO!"_

We both lifted with all of our strength, sending Jaune flying out of his tube and into the cold, refreshing lake. He shrieked like a siren the instant his butt left the tube, all the way until the last of his toes was submerged in the blue depths. After a few moments of splashing, he resurfaced, his once sun-bleached hair now soaked and clinging to his forehead. I laughed.

"What the hell was that for?!" he demanded, sending a wave of splash in our direction. I splashed back.

"That's for shooting me with that Nerf gun," I said, managing to avoid the next splash. "You deserve it."

He swam back over. "Wha- that was _last year!"_

I shrugged. "Eh, too bad."

"No!" I received a face full of water. He got two back. "Not even a little bit the same!"

I splashed over, giving my best attempt at tossing Jaune. He was, of course, both too heavy and too elbowy for me to throw any further than a few inches, so I ended up basically just aggressively hugging him around the stomach. Awkward.

I gave up on throwing him after receiving a particularly torrential splashing, retreating behind my sister. He tried to splash me again anyways, even though the six-foot-three wall of abs and dyed hair stood menacingly in his way. Always was brave around her, I found. Like she was one of his _own_ sisters. Good thing, too.

I caught the laughter in his yell as he was easily lifted and tossed backwards into the lake again.

/…/

The air was chilly as it cut through my hoodie. My breath came out in little puffs of condensation. Which was totally bogus, as it was _JULY._ I huddled closer to Winter on the towel we were all sitting on. She hand one arm around each of us, trying to keep us close in the dark of the evening.

"You kids got your plugs in?" she asked, although I barely heard it as, yes, I had my earplugs in. Jaune shivered from his side of Winter, justifiably. The temperature had dropped well below a comfortable level after the sun had gone down. Jaune had been graciously given her thick navy blue uOttawa hoodie to keep warm in, and I had my giant, oversize black hoodie that had been gifted to me on Christmas. It was _designer._ Thanks, Winter.

"When's it gonna start?" I asked, snuggling closer and trying to mooch as much warmth off my sister. I yawned, watching the water.

"Soon, sweetheart." she said, pulling both of us closer. I could feel her shivering as well. "Hey, look."

I looked out to where she was gesturing to. A barge had been pulled out to the shoal we'd been playing on earlier, before dinner. We'd gone out to the little town of Picton, just a few minutes down the street from the beach. The little diner had some of the best wood-oven pizza I had ever had in my life, even to this day. And it was was do it's best to keep me warm with the lingering hints of the delicious sauce, but the cold air was winning. After a few more moments of watching the barge move along the shoal, it came to a stop, almost right in our line of sight.

"Alright, it's starting, _shhhh_ "

Now, a visual light show would not require a shushing, but it felt like the right thing to say in the moment. And given the volume of the show, even loud shouting would be drowned out. However, they hushed up anyways.

One lonely flare fired up from the barge. The bright red ball went up to about fifteen hundred feet or so, not accompanied by anything or anyone else. If this was the fireworks show, I was sorely disappoin-

 _ **BANG BANG**_

Two _huge_ balls of fire exploded right next to the flare, right up above where we were sitting. The sky filled with beautiful reds and whites as the mortar shell blew its contents in two huge spherical displays. See, normally when you watch fireworks displays you see them from afar, so the light happens in the display, then after four or five seconds the bang hits you. Not so in this case. Being on the beach meant literal front row seats. So the light and the sound happened at the same time.

" _Wahhhh!"_

I jumped _out of my skin_ , shrieking and clenching down on the nearest piece of other person to me. A small, boyish hand. It didn't resist, so that was a good thing. I kept the hand gripped in mine as the next two explosions went off right above us again. The shapes this time were clearly lopsided, but identifiable as maple leaves. I smiled, still shaken by the shockwaves as they hit the ground and reverberated through us. I felt Winter press her nose into the top of my head to try and comfort me, which did work, actually.

The show continued very vibrantly, with every colour of the rainbow accounted for, interspersed with Canada Flag mortars every so often to drive home the point that this was the day in which my foster country celebrated its independence. Eventually I stopped gripping down on Jaune's hand after every explosion, but I certainly never let it go. It was warm.

It was nice to feel like I was where I was supposed to be. A place where my family was, more importantly my friends were. Germany never felt like home to me for some reason. Maybe it was the claustrophobic house, and the impartial school and the fact we never did stuff like this. No beach trips, no dinners out. Nothing exciting.

But here, on the shores of Lake Ontario, with my sister and my best friend Jaune, I felt right.

All was well.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

March 30th, 1999

He was gone. Gone!

"I'm so alone… alone forever…!" I cried hopelessly, draping my arm over my eyes. My life was over. There would be no salvation. "How could this happen to me?!"

Everything that was once right was now wrong. Everything that was once bright, now dim.

"I can't believe this. Why would he leave me?" I didn't understand this at all. My world was caving in around me. I had no one to hold on to, no one to confide in, no one to visit. It was all _over._ He had left, without even giving me a proper goodbye. How could he let this happen? "How could _I_ have let this happen?"

"Dude, what are you _talking_ about?"

Emmy poked me in the cheek.

"He's gone!" I yelled, flailing wildly on the couch. "My best friend in the whole world is gone! Forever!"

"Bitch, I'm _right_ here!" she said, sounding upset with me.

"Yeah, but _Jaune_ 's gone! He left me alone with _you!"_ I flopped over, rolling off her futon and onto the thick shag rug in the den. "And he's never coming back!"

I grabbed a pillow and shoved it into my face, yelling nothing into it. Emmy couldn't possibly understand. _She_ didn't have a best friend right at the end of her street to go visit on a daily basis. She had to always wait for me to bike over, which took a whole twenty-five minutes!

"He left like, fifteen minutes ago. What are you so worked up about?"

"He's left me for some other woman in Paris!" I cried, trying to force tears to make my hopeless point. Emmy didn't understand my loneliness. "He's probably already found himself a new best friend, and now I'm all a- _lone!"_

"Dude, calm down! Why are you being so dramatic?"

I flipped over and glared up at Emmy, a mix of hatred and sadness in my eyes.

"Because, Emerald, my best friend in the whole world is leaving and won't be back for a million years. What am I supposed to do without him?!"

She scoffed, scrubbing her nails against a file. "Okay, first off, two weeks, and second off, _**me.**_ "

"What?"

"You have _me_ to hang out with. Why am I not good enough for you or something?" She returned the glare. "Because how dare you."

I sighed, rolling onto my back. She wouldn't understand.

"You wouldn't understand."

"I feel like I would. He's my friend too."

She wouldn't. I flopped along the carpet like a fish. " _Ughhhhhh!"_

Jaune was gone, gone far away.

"But he's my _best friend!_ And he left me forever!" I cried. There was no way around my situation.

"He's gone for nine days." she smacked me with a pillow. "Grow up, you child. He'll be back eventually, don't freak out so much. Did you freak out this much when I went back to Tabriz?"

"No..." I lied. I fully did. It had happened when we were only seven years old. Now, I may have had only limited knowledge of Middle Eastern geopolitics at this age, but I _did_ watch the news on occasion and knew what the words 'active' and 'warzone' meant. At that time, Iran had been in a moment of peace with its allies, mind you, but I freaked out much the same.

I sniffed to try and distract myself. "But Jaune is going to _France!_ He's much more likely to stay there because that's his home 'n stuff and everyone there is French and I'm not and he's gone forever and I'm gonna be alone!"

"Ugh, you are so _annoying,"_ she said, watching me scoot around on my face. "He's there for a funeral and to visit his sisters. Wait no, a wedding sorry, the point is did you not even _listen_ when he was explaining this?"

"He didn't tell me anything!"

"He told us this _two months ago!"_ Emmy almost yelled.

" _Waaaaaaaah."_

I finally scooted into a leg of the couch, bringing my tirade to a physical halt. I winced. I could hear her sigh loudly down at me, followed swiftly by the sound of her lying down on the carpet as well. The throw rug shifted as she settled into it, rolling over next to me. I lay my face on my cheek, seeing her olive-coloured eyes within inches of mine. I pouted.

"But I want my bestie back."

She gave a curt laugh. "He's probably not even at the airport yet. Montreal is two _hours_ away."

"Yeah, but..."

"No buts." she hit me in the arm. "Unless Ines' van is actually a jet plane, Jauney's not at the airport yet. Calm do-hown. Ya crazy lady."

I huffed. I rolled over. I rolled back. I gave a flail of my extremities to make my point. Emmy laughed, and slung her arm over me.

"How 'bout we make cookies." she asked, trying to hold my body in place. "Would that make you feel better?"

I shrugged, rolling onto my back. "I 'unno." I slurred.

"Brownies?" she suggested. I stuck my tongue out and blew a raspberry.

"No. I had too many this morning." I explained, recalling the thick fudge I'd proliferated from the fridge. No one had been there to stop me, so it was mine for the taking.

"Okay… weirdo… how about some muffins?" Emmy was clearly desperate at this point. I could feel it in the way her arm tensed across my chest.

I shrugged. "I guess so." My sigh escaped like a deflating weather balloon.

"How about banana muffins? We have a bunch of too-old-to-eat-slightly-brown bananas on the counter, we could use them?"

"I guess so," more sighing. "Why didn't you eat them before?"

It was Emmy's turn to shrug. "Never got around to it. Mama was gonna make banana loaf for me and Papa, but if we make muffins instead it shouldn't be a problem."

Banana loaf sounded pretty good, actually. Now I wanted them. "Do you have a recipe?"

Emmy showed no signs of either letting go or getting up in any hurry, but she opened her eyes and cocked an eyebrow. "I think so. If not, we can always ask my girl Betty."

I chuckled. "White or Crocker?"

"Ha ha, very funny." I coughed as she used my stomach as a prop to sit up. "C'mon, they aren't gonna make themselves."

She stood up, leaving me on the floor. I went to get up, grabbing her outstretched hand.

" _Yallah,_ come on." she said, pulling me onto my feet with more force than I had been expecting.

"Eh, wait, let me stand up first!" I followed along into the hallway, careful not to fall down her precariously steep staircase. The narrow townhouse had many places someone even as short as we were to bump their head, the most glaring of which was the lip above the stairs. I'm surprised neither of us had a ridge permanently indented into our foreheads from the number of times we had run down them.

Today, we were careful, giving each other a knowing look after safely traversing the dangerous staircase.

"In here," she said, gesturing into the kitchen more for demonstrative purposes than anything. I knew her house inside and out. "Okay, I think it's safe to say because all recipes say this, can you set the oven to three-fifty?"

I chuckled. "Yeah, sure thing."

The little white oven sat recessed into the plaster, flush against the side wall of the room. I slid over, my socks having zero traction on the linoleum floor, obviously. The dial on the front was easy enough to figure out, and I spun it to the little _350_ _o_ _F_ label near the end of the sticker. The red PRE light came on.

"And it's on!" I cheered, spitting out a loose hair from my mouth. Gross.

"Okay," she said, sliding the clay bowl of bananas over to the middle of the counter. "Above you in the cupboard is the book."

I had to get up on my tiptoes to even reach the door. But I managed, running my fingers along the back of the line of books.

"This one?" I asked, trying to grab a neatly spiral bound book.

"No no, the shitty one." she said with her usual disregard for cursing. "On the end."

Oh, that one. I could see it, barely held together with the elastics, the few hundred pages of yellowing paper clearly stained in years of oil. I stretched as hard as I could, grabbing the elastic and pulling it free of the shelf, letting the old book fall into my hands.

"This one?" I tried to read the title. It was in Arabic.

Emmy smiled her million-dollar smile. "Yeah, that's the one!"

The only word, or _words_ I should say that I could understand were the two that circled the old woman's face on the top right corner.

"Is this an Arabic Betty Crocker book?"

"What, do you think people in the Middle East don't occasionally want to make pastries and cake?"

"That's not what I mean..." I paused, pulling open a cupboard and rooting around for a muffin tray. "I just didn't realize it was released in any other language."

Emmy shrugged, tossing me an apron from the drawer on the other end of her kitchen. "Didn't you have a German one?"

I shook my head, flipping a pan out onto the counter. "Nah, we just had a box with little cards in it that my grandmother made."

"In German, though?"

"Uh… yes." I paused, the little paper muffin cups in my fingers.

Emmy chuckled, grabbing the cookbook and pulling the old, stiff elastics off and placing them gently on the table. Funny, I figured she'd have flung them at me, but she didn't. I relaxed. I spent a moment placing the little ruffled paper cups in each of the pan's spots.

"Right!" she cheered, slapping the book down on the counter and pointing down at the recipe almost three quarters through the old pages. "One recipe for banana-chocolate chip muffins."

I looked down at the page, seeing the wrong-way going scribbles crossing the page from right to left. The only things I could understand were the measurement numbers and fractions, as they were in regular W _estern Arabic_ text. Or as most of us know it, regular numbers.

"Can… I get a translation?" I asked, not even pretending to know what I was reading.

Her smile became malicious. She held up a meat tenderizer and one of the bananas.

"Step one; destroy banana."

/…/

"How much longer?"

"Fifteen minutes."

I twitched. That was much to long to wait for me. Especially with the sweet and overpowering smell of banana that had filled the house. Emmy's cat, Stripes, had even gotten up off his usually lazy fat butt to come and investigate. If you knew this cat, you'd know this was a big deal.

"What do we do until then?"

Emmy shrugged, scratching Stripes behind the ears.

"Dunno."

I scooted my chair closer to the oven, peering through the glass.

"Hmm."

"Wanna play Mario Kart?"

I glanced over. Emmy seemed to be just as interested in watching the oven as I was. Maybe a distraction would be best. Someone once told me that a watched pot never boils, and this was maybe the case with watched muffins, too.

"Alright." I said, getting up off my chair and dragging it back over to the table. "But I get to play as Peach."

"Ugh, fine. I'll be Toad."

We settled into the couch in the living room, which was conveniently right next to the kitchen and left the microwave timer in full view. Em leaned over and clicked the TV and her 64 on, plugging in the second controller and leaning back. The start up screen came up, prompting us to 'Press Start'. We complied.

"One-fifty?"

"You know it."

She chuckled

"Alright, what Cup are we doing?"

"Flower Cup, it has Choco Mountain."

She clicked over and selected it. The character selection screen popped up, and before she even had time to react I had selected Peach from the list so she wouldn't choose her first. The twitch in Emmy's eye showed that this was probably her intended course of action.

"Ready to lose?" I asked, leaning backwards.

"I never lose."

The game started up, loading the flavour shot of the first course in the Cup. Emmy impatiently mashed the A button, and the race grid popped up. The split screen had her on top and me on the bottom, as I had been resigned to player two. The lights came down. I jammed the A button, revving the tires up. As the light went green, I shot ahead.

"Yeah, boost start!"

I had rocketed into third, way ahead of Emmy.

"Oy, wait up."

"No, that's the point of racing. Catch up."

"Bitch."

I gasped. "How dare you."

"We should have invited Russ." she suggested, sniffing and shaking some hair out of her face.

"I thought he had a thing after school." I drifted around second place. "Something soccer I thought."

"Oh yeah, practice. Should I save him a muffin?"

"He doesn't like bananas."

Emmy scoffed. "Who the hell doesn't like bananas?"

"Russel. I just said that." To make my point, I threw a banana peel behind my kart. Emmy's cat wandered over and sat down at the foot of the couch. I cursed as a red shell hit me. Stupid Bowser.

"Well, I like them. I Russ doesn't he can shove it." I watched her drift past me. "No muffins for him."

I flippantly waved her off.

"Eh, whatever. Just you wait."

"What for?" she asked, unawares.

"This!" I said, releasing a blue shell.

She seemed confused. "What was 'this'? Nothing happ-"

She was hit by the shell, flinging her and her kart into the air in a haze of blue explosion. "Ha!"

I slid past, claiming first place for myself. Emmy yelled an expletive, trying to break her controller in anger. I laughed as I crossed over the finish line in first.

"You sly bitch." she said, thumping me with her shoulder. "How dare you use that on _me!"_

"You were in first, the blue shell only goes for whoever's in first." I said, watching the finishing screen play. It had claimed I had won fifteen points, leaving Emmy with a paltry twelve. "You should know that."

"Ugh."

The next course began.

"Okay, press the A button right before it says go." I offered. "Then you can get a boost start."

"You're not giving me bad advice to make me screw up?"

The countdown started. "Just do it."

And so she did, and we both rocketed off the line well ahead of everyone else. We jockeyed for position for a little bit of the course, me being in the lead for most of it. Emmy seemed briefly pleased that I hadn't lied to her, but reverted to her usual pissy mood when she found that she was unable to pass me.

"How is it that you get the blue shells when you're losing and all I get is freakin' bananas!" she exclaimed. The plastic controller creaked under her grip.

"Very simple, my dear Emerald." I explained, smirking at her. " _Get go-"_

The buzzer on the microwave rang.

/…/

I'd like to take a moment to talk about physics, if I may. In nature there is a small collection of immutable laws. Things that, no matter how hard we try, cannot be broken. Millions of dollars in research, over hundreds of years and we cannot bring ourselves to overcome them, as our entire life cycle is governed by them.

My favourite of which is the speed of light. No particle, with or without mass, may travel faster than it. The photon is a massless particle of infinite momentum that travels at ninety-nine point nine-nine repeating percent of the speed of light, and has the ability to pass through matter and energy as if it wasn't there. Large, oil-filled detectors have to be placed deep under ground to accurately collect them.

Not even the inescapable pull of gravity can cause light to exceed it's own set limit. A force so great it literally _stops light from existing_ using sheer brute force cannot hinder the overwhelming gravity, pun fully intended, of the law of the speed of light. A black hole, for instance, creates a well of force that can equalize and _cancel out_ particles that have infinite momentum, which is a fantastic spectacle to observe if I'm honest. But alas, even our friend the black hole cannot break the law.

 _However._

On December twenty-sixth, twenty-fourteen, a team of scientists at George Mason University conducted a study to prove that a neutrino could break this fundamental law of the universe and exceed the speed of light by converting its mass so it more resembled a particle called a tachyon. They observed a particle that seemed to arrive at the receiver plate a fraction of a millionth of a nanosecond before it had even been fired, which indicated that it had exceeded the fundamental speed.

This whole experiment, mind you, was a false outcome, caused by none other than a loose wire in their apparatus. It is still not currently possible to exceed the speed of light, since much like the speed limit on the highway, It's the _law._ And when you break _this_ law, you don't go to jail, no, much _worse_ things can happen.

When you break the fundamental energy barrier that keeps the universe in order, it could be catastrophic. When you break any form of energy, it's bad. Take for instance an electrical wire. You cut that with a set of side cutters for instance, and the electrical flow stops. That's fine, except for the fact that the side cutters are now the thing that is electrified. And you get electrocuted. This is bad.

Now think about tearing apart the energy that holds the very fabric of the universe together…

Yeah.

The buzzer on the microwave rang.

I'm not sure that an observed timed difference even existed between when I let go of my controller and when the delicious taste of banana and chocolate entered my being. In fact, I'm fairly certain banana muffin happened _before_ I even got up off the couch.

That's right, fifteen years before the botched experiment, I proved the existence of faster than light travel. Maybe it's because the scientists didn't have the same kind of motivation that I did. Scientific advancement, pshaw. I was in it for the chocolatey-banana-y goodness that I myself had manufactured.

And I have to say. It was _incredible._

 _/.../_

"Feel better about Jaune leaving?"

I nodded, rubbing my arm. "Yeah, I guess."

"He's probably still in the airport right now." she suggested, walking me to the door. She had neatly packaged four muffins for me to bring home in a box for me. "I would bet he's not even on the plane yet. You know about the wait times at most airports."

"Yeah..." I tried not to seem as deflated as I was. Yes, the muffins were making me feel better, but Jaune was still missing.

"So you gonna remember to bring me my Tupperware back?"

I rolled my eyes at her. "Duh, don't be ridiculous."

"Yeah, but the last three times-"

"You'll get them back, Em. Don't worry."

"I worry." she said, handing over the clear plastic box full of muffins. "Exclusively about my Tupperware. Which you never return."

"Yeah, but…." I was at a loss for explanation. "Alright fine."

"Kay, see you tomorrow."

I gave Em a quick hug, before spinning on the spot and leaving her house. She shouted after me about the Tupperware again, and I flipped her off as I grabbed my bike off her front porch. The box of muffins fit neatly in the yellow wicker basket on the front of my equally yellow bike. It bounced down the steps as I slung my leg over the seat and pedaled out onto the street. The sun had gone down to a level where it glared directly into my eyes as rode up the street, weaving around cars parked at the side of the road.

I should mention that Emmy used to get _really_ bent out of shape about hugs and the getting of them. Amy time that I would go to hug Jaune, Emmy would usually push him out of the way and take it for herself. I'd maybe even call it selfish of her, but she seemed to just want to interrupt Jaune from getting one. And any time I'd succeed in getting one to him first, she'd just cross her arms and pout and then not accept any affection. Even Russ didn't freak out this much. He'd just take his me-hug and not complain, and Em never seemed to be bothered if Russ did or didn't get the hugs.

It was always just whenever Jaune was next in line for one. I frowned as I thought about it, riding down the hill. Hell, I even remember a time when she took both her own hug and then stole _his_ hug, thereby getting two for herself. How greedy.

I pushed the thoughts out of my head as I descended the long hill, keeping close to the edge of the street. The sun was badly burning my eyes, which made it quite hard to see anything. But I managed, holding one hand up to block the glare from my vision. Generally speaking I had a hat at all times, but this particular day I had forgotten it in the back seat of Winter's car along with my sunglasses. I could see, however, that the traffic light at the bottom of the hill was green in my direction.

This was certainly good, since I was going at quite a clip. I shifted the bike up into top gear as the wind blasted through my hair and into the holes in my jeans. It was kinda nice, actually, blasting down the hill on a sunny afternoon, the sweet smell of bananas and chocolate wafting up into my nose from the basket in front of me. So serene.

Which was interrupted.

Suddenly there was the sound of screeching tires from my right side.

Then there was a sharp pain in my right thigh.

Then sky. Then ground. Then sky. Then ground again.

Then the sudden, horrible feeling of asphalt scraping against my whole body. I cried out.

I had fallen off my bike.

It hurt quite badly, but something seemed off. It hurt more than it should have, though. Through the ringing of my quite likely large skin abrasions, I heard the sound of the tires screeching again, from behind me this time. The haze of water in my eyes clouded my vision, but I still was able to identify the dark green blob of car that sped around me and quickly around the first corner. The sound of the engine got quieter as it sped away.

Why would someone run away after witnessing a small child fall off their bicycle? Especially with such haste?

This thought filled my head as I tried to roll over onto my back. This didn't quite work out as planned, as the sharp pain rose through my leg again. Probably a badly pulled muscle from being swiftly ejected from my bicycle. With a very unladylike grunt, I managed to roll over and look up at the sky again. The edges of the blue expanse were greyed out, and pulsing slowly with my heart. I brought my hands up to my face. They were scraped quite badly, but all of my fingers were still in place so I didn't have reason to panic. I could see a small seepage of blood from my right arm where some of the skin had been scraped away. I wasn't sure if it hurt yet.

I do remember having difficulty breathing for a few moments. This feeling of breathlessness went away after a few moments, however, which was nice. The pained of what I assumed was a bruised leg came back as my breathing did. It was more than a sore hurt, though, as it pulsed with occasional sharp pinches, right in the muscle of my thigh. I tried to sit up, getting only halfway there before the pain in my leg dragged me back down.

"Jaune..." I murmured. "...where's… Jaune..."

Not that Jaune would have been much help here. He was too far away to be helpful today. It didn't matter. I could do this myself.

"Ow..." I finally decided on, after much delegation. I wiped the tears from my face, wiping more dirt onto it.

I managed to get onto my left side, then finally back onto my front. I pushed myself up, keeping all my weight off my right leg, which still hurt. Maybe it was actually my ankle, I figured. I had plenty of sprained ankles from doing gymnastics recently, so I knew I needed to get my injury on ice. But first, I needed to get out of the _middle of the street._

"How'd I..." I tried to ask myself. It didn't come out right, as I found that talking hurt my chest. Gosh, what _wasn't_ wrong with me? "...ow"

I managed to get to my feet, with a yelp of pain. I did a quick visual check, trying to keep balanced on my left leg. My right just seemed far too sprained to put weight on right at that moment. But otherwise I was fine, just scraped up. A bit of my hair fell into my face as I glanced over to my bike.

Which was a good twenty feet away.

Crumpled.

I let out a gasp.

" _What the hell?!"_ I yelled. Tears reached my eyes again, from both the pain in my leg and the sight of my bike, lying haplessly on the ground with a crumpled front wheel and a broken handlebar. The muffins, however "...Oh, thank heavens. You're all right."

They had survived the fall, protected by Emmy's expensive Tupperware. I sighed with relief, taking a tentative step forward to collect my fallen and battered bike.

" _AAAHHK"_

My right leg gave out the instant I put weight on it. I wavered, managing to catch myself with my arms. The ground wouldn't collect me again if I could help it. It took a few minutes of one-legged hopping to get over to my bike, which still was making the quiet clicking as the rear tire came to a slow stop on its axle. _Good bearings,_ I thought.

The pain in my leg was horrible. It felt worse than a sprain at this point, and it was still pulsing with a vengeance, now. I bit back the wailing I so desperately wanted to let out. I grit my teeth, hard enough for it to hurt.

"Stupid...sprained...leg..." I managed to wheeze out. I hadn't actually grasped the gravity of the situation yet, as I stood over my bent and damaged bicycle. It seemed in good enough shape to use as a crutch to get home, mind you. I let some injured-sounding pains out. "Rrrrrgh."

As I bent down to pick it up, the gravity of the situation grasped me, and pulled me down onto the yellow frame with a crunch. I resisted the urge to curse, now tangled in the metal cage. I coughed down at it, hoping this would be enough of an act to get the bike to fall in line like a _good_ inanimate object.

"Please… not now..." I struggled to get up again, balancing precariously on my left leg as I brought the bike up level. It seemed to be able to still roll forward, even with the mess of broken forks in the front wheel and the broken handlebar. "Okay… I can… see my house… we can do this..."

It was just up ahead on the left, no more than two hundred yards away. It _did_ required crossing a major intersection to get to, but there was a crossing light and it was usually long enough to cross even at a slow pace. I decided to mount my bike to get some weight off the injury.

I regretted this decision immediately, as the instant I went to sling my leg over the seat, _searing_ white-hot pain shot up my body, piercing through my chest and up my neck even. Even as naive as I was, I sort of knew it was bad when I could feel the pain in my _ear._ I couldn't get on the seat. I couldn't put my weight down to walk on it. And I certainly couldn't bring myself to even _look._ I turned, sitting myself side-saddle on the seat and tried my luck at this angle. It seemed to hold, and the despite the bend in the frame the bike stayed upright.

"Okay… now home…" I pushed off with my good leg, and rolled forward. The front spokes _tink_ 'd off the forks like a xylophone, only sucky and out of tune as I pushed myself towards the main street. By some stroke of pure luck, the light went green just as I got to the intersection and I was able to roll right through. I had to focus harder than I had for anything else in my life so as to not fall backwards off the bike and land in the middle of a busy intersection. Perhaps If I did, someone would be more helpful than the jerk in the green car. Like seriously, who speeds away after watching a kid fall?

I made it across. Thankfully. Not much further now. The smell of muffins had gone away, even though the box was still sealed with its contents delicately protected. I though at the time it was because the wind was blowing it a different direction. I found out later that it was because my nose had become plugged. With blood. From a bunch of burst blood vessels.

I reached my house, and coasted slowly up the driveway. The garage was _thankfully_ open, and there was Winter's wagon, parked up against the side. My heart skipped. Now, whether this was medically-induced or simply metaphorical, I don't know.

"Winter!" I coughed out. " _Winter!"_

I cried as I fell over again, this time onto my own lawn. At least the grass was comfortable to land on. Well, more comfortable than the road.

" _Wint-er-her-her!_ " I cried, rolling over. The sound of our front door opening was a welcome one.

"Weiss?" I could hear her say. "Oh my god, _Weiss_!?"

She sprinted over and slid to a stop on the grass next to me on her knees.

"Holy _shit,_ what happened?!" she almost demanded, dropping the whatever that was in her hand into the garden, and seemed to be panicking quite a lot.

"Fell off… bike..." I wheezed. I could feel her start to take off my left shoe.

"It looks like you were hit by a bus, your bike is destroyed." my shoe came off with a pop. She went for the other one, undoing the laces. "This kinda damage wasn't caused by a fall. Where does it hurt?"

I coughed. "Leg..."

"Which leg?"

"Right." It was hard to talk. The edges of my vision had clouded up with grey again.

She ran her hands up my leg. "Where?"

I tried to pinpoint the source of the throbbing pain. It felt like it was coming from the spot a few inches above my knee. I pointed to it.

"...here… leg..." I tried, trying to lift my leg to her. I gasped as the pain raced back up my body.

"Christ, how much does it hurt?" she slid her hands up my leg, giving soft squeezes ever little bit to gauge my reactions. To be perfectly honest, I couldn't feel anything beyond the pain. "Here?"

She squeezed down on the spot I had indicated. I _screamed._

"NO!" came out like a bark. I flailed out to stop her from touching any further. She looked down at me.

"Oh..." she said, and that was all she said for a moment as she cupped one hand under my knee and one hand under my heel. I watched her move slowly. It was agonizing to watch as she carefully moved the aching appendage.

Not as agonizing as what happened next.

She bent the leg upward. And it bent easily from that very spot where the pain emanated from. _UPWARDS._

"Ho-holy _fuck..."_ she said as I wailed out in pain. "How did this happen?! Weiss?!"

"Fell off...my bike..." I pushed out through the tears.

"Weiss, no one breaks their leg falling off a bicycle." she raged. Not at me, though. Just in general. "Tell me _what happened?!"_

"It's not... broken..." I tried.

"Weiss, you were hit by a car." she said, standing up and running into the garage, only to return seconds later with a handful of ratchet straps and piece of timbre wood. "I'm gonna find the motherfucker that did this to you and rip his fucking lungs out through his asshole!"

I coughed out a dry laugh, which brought more pain to my chest. I was starting to think that maybe more than just my leg was broken.

"How the hell did you get home?" she asked, wrapping my leg onto the piece of wood as gently as she could. "Not on your bike, right?"

"It was… not hard..." I was on the verge of passing out. My body had caught up to the pain in itself. And by _god_ was it a lot. "Just… coasted."

"Holy fuck, you're tough." she chuckled, her mind clearly focused on intricate ways of removing a person's skin from their body with various blunt instruments. "Okay, I'm gonna pick you up now. We're going to the hospital. You ready?"

I nodded weakly. Her arms went around me, and like I was a feather made of glass, she lifted me off the ground. With my leg splinted in a straight position, it didn't hurt so bad as she supported me over to the car. With a creak of old steel, she pulled the door open with one finger and gently lowered me into the passenger seat of the old Pontiac. Great thing about that car was the front bench seat with its _miles_ of leg room, which meant I wasn't even uncomfortable with my leg tied straight. And with my weight now fully on my butt, some of the searing pain receded.

"Okay, I'm gonna go grab your health card, I'll be right back, I promise." She used such reassuring words to try and calm me down, which was sweet. I don't think I needed calming, though. I needed to not have a broken leg. And I needed Jaune. But that was different.

She was back in a flash, climbing into the driver's seat and cranking the old car into life. Even through the pulsing in my ears I could hear that she had since fixed the rough idle and misfire, and the car didn't seem to smoke anymore. Which meant the cabin no longer smelled and tasted like death by suffocation. This was good, as I currently couldn't fully breathe anyways. She slammed the car into reverse and backed quickly down the driveway with an angry look on her face, loping the huge machine out onto the road.

"You didn't… close the… garage..." I wheezed. Tell you what, a broken rib does wonders for the ability to talk.

"I don't even care," she said, surging the vehicle forward. "If father gets upset at me, he can go fuck himself. I can't help but notice it's not _him_ driving you to the hospital. Fuckin' asshole."

Clearly, my sister was upset. I felt like I needed to apologize. I kept quiet for the twenty-minute drive out to Ottawa General, with only minor interjections of quiet groans as my lungs ached and my leg seared. It was actually a miracle that we arrived at the hospital so quickly, with it being the tail end of traffic hour in the city. Winter's car was also slightly to thank for this, as even though it was showing it's age, the big Catalina had no problems brute-forcing its way through traffic.

I tried to steady my breathing as Winter expedited me to the hospital. But it had started coming out in short bursts, and becoming increasingly painful. I remember coughing and it coming up with more than just air. So this was about the point I started panicking. I started freaking out. And when you start hyperventilating with a broken rib jabbing you in the side of the lung…

I passed out.

/…/

I don't remember much after this. I remember the feeling of the car sliding to a stop, presumably outside the hospital. I don't remember being carried in, I don't remember Winter yelling at the attending for being slow and lethargic, and I don't even remember having my jeans scissored off.

"Stand her up straight." I remember someone saying, and the awkward feeling of someone holding me up on a weigh scale by the armpits. I don't even remember what the scale said. I'm sure after this there was painkillers and anesthetic, but it all came through as a haze.

"The two lower most… on the right side…"

A panicked breathing.

"...Fractured...femur..."

The thickest bone in the human body is the one that occupies the upper part of the leg. It holds the majority of the weight of our bodies and has the most density and overall strength. Breaking it requires upwards of four thousand newtons of impulse, right in the centre. At a guess, with my body weight taken as an average, and guessing that the car I'd been hit by had been moving at an average speed on residential streets, I had been hit by around _twelve and a half_ thousand newtons. Much of this had been absorbed by my bike's frame, but clearly enough had got me in the leg.

"...backwards from ten..."

I saw the x-rays later on. That bone had been fractured in a very awkward place. It had to be opened up and screwed back together. I was told I'd be on crutches and in a cast for at least nine or ten months, and I'd have to quit gymnastics and running track for the school team. The ribs, on the other hand, couldn't be put in a cast or anything like that, since the two that had been broken were _floating_ ribs, they really didn't matter. But they were still broken. After a while they'd fix themselves.

I felt alone. Even with Winter sitting with me for what seemed like forty or fifty continuous hours, I felt like I had no one. You know who never came to see me during my two days there? My parents. Even Russel brought his freaking baby sister to see me, and Whitley was dragged out by Emmy, but my own _parents_ didn't come. Winter said when she'd gone in to get my health card, she'd alerted them to my condition, and he simply looked up at her and asked 'what do you want me to do about it?' What a shame.

And worst of all, by the time I came to from the knockout drugs, Jaune had landed in Paris and was too far away from me to be with me. I know, I know, it was a sappy notion, but in the first few moments I woke up, all I could think about was where was Jaune. The loneliness of waking up at three in the morning coated in plaster and unable to move with the knowledge that I couldn't walk was horrible. I wanted my best friend back. I knew he would be able to keep me from crying just by being there for me. Winter's angry, nervous pacing was not making me feel very good. She had a lot of angry things to say about our father. Most of which included the f-word.

"W...Win...ter..." I remember asking for while coming off the drugs. She came at my calling, climbing into the uncomfortable bed with me and laying there. I think I asked her to read to me, and I sort of remember hearing a few lines of Charlotte's Web, specifically the part about the spider making the ' _some pig'_ sign in her web, but the loneliness prevailed.

I can't explain it.

I felt broken.

Not having Jaune around for this made me feel more broken than having my leg snapped in half.

I just…

It wasn't a good day for me.

I remember crying.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

 _April 13_ _th_ _, 1999_

The airport air was stale. Gross, even. I had bitten my tongue at some point, and now I was pushing the injury against the back of my teeth. I could feel the ridges between them with the little sore bulge on the tip. It sucked. Well, everything sucked, actually.

My leg hurt.

I impatiently tapped my left foot against the floor, making little thuds as the heel of my boot made rhythmic contact with the dull white tile. I was uncomfortable. The hospital had given me what felt like the _most_ uncomfortable wheelchair they could afford. As if they had looked at me and went ' _oh, a little girl? Give her the bad one. You know the one I mean. Keep the good ones for people with sore throats.'_ So you could see how much they cared about my post-visit happiness.

My leg _hurt._

The morning's breakfast had consisted of a sesame seed bagel from the Timmies that was on site at the airport, and we had been served by the most apologetically _rude_ little barista, who didn't like that my sister didn't speak a word of french. In fact, she seemed more than willing to waste time on purpose just because she couldn't. My limited knowledge of _real_ french allowed me to pick up a few things she said to her coworkers, namely the words 'stupid' and 'bitch'. Like, I understand it's early in the morning, but come on.

My _leg_ hurt.

I had sworn back under my breath in _German_ from my less-than-intimidating position in my wheelchair, which I was glad that the barista and my sister hadn't heard. It was pretty coarse for even me. She deserved it, though. I was as upset as I could be, given how unfathomably tired I was. Do you know how difficult it is to sleep comfortably when you are not allowed to roll over, sleep on your front, sit up by yourself, or do anything other than lie flat on your back and stare at the ceiling? Unreasonably, is how much. Every single movement I made was uncomfortable. And every single one made _my leg hurt._

"Winter."

"No."

I whined.

"But it _hur-ur-urts."_

"I know, sweetie, but _no._ One per day, and you had your one when you woke up."

I whined again, this time a little harder. For emphasis. I was on a strict (and strictly enforced) set of drugs to keep my body in check after the surgery. After my accident, I had needed to go under the knife to fix my stupid, stupid leg. A small titanium plate had been installed, bolting the now two-piece femur back together. And all of it hurt. The stitches, the places where the screws were inside the bones, even just the weight of my leg hurt. Not being able to move it more than a couple of millimetres was a royal pain in… well, the leg, actually.

"But why not."

My sister sighed, rubbing my shoulder from behind me.

"Because that's the rules, Weiss. You heard the doctor, and you said you'd follow the rules he wrote."

"That was before my leg started to hurt on its own."

"It's been two weeks, Weiss. You'll have to get used to it."

Two anti-inflammatories, one painkiller. That was all I was given per day. The anti-inflammatories were actually very good, keeping my leg from ballooning in its cast from the trauma and causing further damage to me and my well being. The painkillers, however. At this point, I felt like I shouldn't have even bothered taking them. A smart person would have known that painkillers don't actually delete the pain, they just reduce it to a controllable level. I didn't know this. I was not smart. I thought that because I knew that the drug they gave was basically street-level heroin, and that heroin was the drug that knocked you out while keeping you conscious, that I wouldn't be in any pain.

But my leg hurt.

I found out later that a day _without_ the meds was akin to having my leg broken and then fixed and then broken again _every fucking second,_ every time my heart beat. How I managed to _ride my bike home_ is a god damn miracle. I am made of stronger stuff them most eleven-year-old girls. Than most people, forget about what age they are.

"But I don't _wanna._ " I complained. " _I hurt."_

She didn't say anything more, just giving me a soft smile and a reassuring rub of the shoulder. I lamented, feigning agony more than the stiff, throbbing pain that was my life right now.

"When's he gonna land."

"Soon, honey. Soon."

I looked up at the board between the pillars that hung above the baggage carousel. It had cycled again since I had looked last, and now it showed that flight three-five-seven had just landed. I perked up a little bit, sitting slightly straighter in my uncomfortable perch. I knew it would be about twenty or so minutes after landing to go through customs, so I still had a little while. From in front of us, the carousel started slowly turning with a flash of orange safety light. It's not that I was impatient or anything. I just wanted to see Jaune again.

"From now on, he's not allowed to leave without me."

"That seems like a little much, don't you think?"

"Nope." I pointed at my cast. "See what happens when he's not around? Just imagine what I might break next. Might be my arm. Or my neck. Or… my pretty face!"

Winter laughed and gave me a smooch on the top of my head. "You are so dramatic."

"I'm not dramatic!" I argued, trying not to wince from the sudden spike of pain in my leg. "I'm fully serious. Next time Jaune goes on vacation, I'm going with him. No questions, no arguments."

"Alright, alright," she lamented, coming around to kneel in front of me. "Don't move around so much, you're gonna make your leg worse, you silly goose. When you heal you can go with him. Until you're out of your cast, you will stay in that chair and that is final. Okay?"

I crossed my arms, frowning and looking away. Winter's hand gently brought my face back in line with hers. She held a stern smile.

"You understand, young lady?"

How dare she call me that! I feigned disgust at her choice of words for a moment, flipping my face away and catching her in the cheek with some of my hair. Perks of being a girl. Your hair is a flippancy weapon.

"Whatever." I said with a smile that came out, even though I was forcing it down. "But you're gonna help me get up when Jaune gets here so I can hug him properly."

She rolled her eyes at me.

"You are such a suck, Weiss. I love you so much. Please never change."

"Yes, mom."

She laughed and messed my hair up in her fingers while she stood up and resumed her position behind the chair.

"Alright, I'll move us closer to the exit so we can see him. Buckle up!"

My chair didn't even have a seatbelt. I lolled my head backward to look up at her upside down. I raised a hand and pointed forwards.

"Bring me to him."

She shunted me forward, rolling us towards the carousel and to the sliding glass door that led to the customs office. At least, that's what I assumed it was. Stupid french signage. As we stopped by the rope barricade, I rubbed my eye, yawning as I did. I was pretty tired. And the thought of skipping school today made me very confused. Eight-thirty in the morning sucked. Especially after two hours in the car to the Montreal airport.

Oh, and my leg hurt.

After about five minutes, a fair crowd of people started to come out of the customs area. Most of them were tired-looking business people in bland grey and black suits. Some were families, taking the red-eye flight to save a few bucks from vacations. But I wasn't looking for these people. I didn't care about the tourists. I was looking for one boy in particular.

"Oh, hey Weiss, There's Ines. I can't see if-"

"Jaune!" I almost cheered, bolting upright in my chair.

The crowd parted, revealing Jaune's mother Ines, wheeling two large suitcases behind her. And right next to her…

"Jaaaauuunnee!"

He perked his face up at my call, his hoodie pulled up over his head. He broke into a big smile, beginning to run over. I then watched his eyes glance downward at my leg. His smile fell quickly, and what appeared to be fear filled his eyes. His hands found and tightened down on his backpack straps as he hurried over. His mother followed quickly. Took me a while to notice that his older sister, Meyln was with them as well. I didn't like her anyways. And today she was in her usual ' _hurry up, let's go'_ mood. The more time I could take up, the better.

"Hey, buddy." I said, giving him a smug smile.

"Holy shit," he said, swearing uncharacteristically. "What the hell happened to you?"

I could tell his mother wanted to chastise him for using bad language, but to be fair, I _was_ in a wheelchair. Which is not how either of them had left me.

"I fell off my bike."

"She was hit by a car." Winter interjected.

"And then I fell off my bike."

Jaune gasped, almost dropping his bag. "But are you okay?!" There was a lot of panic in his voice.

I shrugged. "Eh, I'll be fine. Be up and running around again in no time!"

"Nine months before you're on your feet again," my sister interjected again. "Even then. No running."

"Does it hurt?"

Like fucking crazy. "Nah, it's not so bad. Doctor said I won't even have a limp when this is all said and done. Said that kid bones are all springy and stuff."

"Are you okay?"

His concern was cute. I smiled up at him.

"Much better now, Jaune."

I extended my arms at him.

"Help me up."

"Weiss, don't push yourself," Winter scolded, not stepping in to stop me I noticed. "I'm not taking you back to the hospital."

"Shush. Jaune?"

He took the hint with a curt laugh, reaching down and grabbing me under the armpits. Together, we heaved me forward, up and out of the wheelchair with Winter providing support from behind. With a great, and I mean _great_ amount of effort, we pulled me into a standing position. With all my weight on my left foot, I was able to stand up. But only for a few moments. The weight of the cast wrapped around my leg immediately started to pull my leg apart again. I fought through it, pulling Jaune against me. The permanent bend in my knee from the cast made it so that I was shorter then him.

"Welcome home, Jaune."

"I don't really care about that," he said softly into my hair, his hug considerably firmer and tighter then it normally was. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine, don't worry about it." I was let down again into the chair. "You're home, that's all that's good today."

"You're still alive, I think that's more important, Weiss." he said, doing _my_ thing and messing up my hair with his hands. It wasn't very often that he spoke with such purpose in his voice. I've only heard it a couple of times, this pointed and direct way of speaking he used. "I missed you."

Hey, now.

"I missed you too. But all's well that ends well."

"Your leg is broken!" he said, clearly ignoring me.

"Like I said," I said, defensively. "I fell off my bike."

Ines scooted around her son and knelt down in front of me. She doted on me for a few moments, as if I was her own daughter. Well, as if I was _already._ Still had a few years before she treated me like I _actually_ was. She quickly fixed my hair, neatening the messy mop Jaune had just created. With her delicate, french fingers she sorted my mess so it all flowed in the same direction over my left shoulder. She spent a minute fussing over my cast, making sure my leg was properly suspended in its sling.

"You need to be more careful, _chéri_. You are always so clumsy."

I smiled sheepishly at her.

"Yeah, sorry." I tried to no avail. "It just kinda happened."

"Well..." she paused. "Try not to have it happen again. We will both be very sad."

She stood up again, rubbing my cheeks oh so motherly as she did. She looked weary for me. But then she always did. Ines treated me like one of her own, and you know what? That was a good thing. Especially now.

"I know, it won't happen again." I said, scratching my head. "I'll work on getting out of the cast faster."

" _Ugh,_ can we _go?"_ Jaune's sister almost commanded. "I'm _tired,_ and I want to go to bed."

Ines sighed. I could see the vein on her forehead pulse again " _Juste une seconde._ Jaune? Are you good if we go?"

"Yes, mum. I'll see you at home." he said, hugging his mother goodbye. It was cute as heck to watch his short little arms try and wrap around her.

After a few moments, he let go of his mother and stepped back over to where we were. His sister gave an angry flick of her hair and a loud, pointed _tsk_ at her little brother and I. I was tempted to flick my hair back at her, but that would have been in bad taste.

Just kidding, I totally did.

/…/

We were a little stuck in traffic. But you know what? It was pretty good to be stuck for once. I had the whole back seat to myself to stretch my leg out on, and I was using the pillow Jaune had brought with him to prop up the cast, under my knee. I was _co-omfy._

"What do you two losers want for breakfast?" Winter asked from the front.

"You know what I miss?" Jaune said, in an uncharacteristic quick and animated response. "Pancakes. They don't have pancakes in Paris. Or anywhere in France, for that matter."

"I could go for pancakes. Weiss?"

I nodded, pouting my lips up at them. "Is there a Cora's nearby?"

"Weiss, it's called _Chez_ _Cora_ here. The stupid french added extra words to the name."

"Hey!" Jaune said, mocking offense. "We did nothing of the sort!"

"Not you," Winter corrected, batting his face away gently with her fingers. "The gross french."

"Oh. So like, my sister then. She's pretty gross. And also french."

"Sister, dearest," I said, turning my attention back the back of Winter's head. "Are you implying that all people from the great province of _Quebec_ are gross? Because that's generalizing, and demeaning."

"You clearly haven't met any of my classmates at university, have you?"

"But still, what if one of the other drivers around you heard you talking like that? Aren't you afraid they might pull you out of the car and beat you up?"

"I could take 'em. Besides, it's not generalizing. Have you taken a look out the window? This city is pretty gross. Also, you remember the barista from this morning?"

I tried not to fidget. "I'm sure there are _some_ nice french people in this city."

"Yeah, there are." she said, looking at me through the rear view mirror. "He's in the passenger seat of this car."

"Oh, funny, Winter. You're so polite."

She laughed. And it made me laugh too. Jaune just crossed his arms in protest.

"So, we agree on Cora's?" She asked, flicking on the turn signal so we could leave the packed highway.

"I think so," I agreed. "I'm feeling like some high cholesterol this morning to go with my truancy."

"Oh yeah, you guys are skipping school too, right?" Jaune asked, uncrossing his arms. "You did that to come see me?"

"Uh, _yeah,_ obviously." I gave my head a dramatic shake. "Besides. I'm not supposed to be back on my feet yet, so I thought that a two-hour car ride then half an hour in a stale airport was exactly how I wanted to spend today."

"Were we supposed to be doing anything important in class today?"

I shrugged. "How should I know, I've been away for the same amount of time as you." I pointed to my leg again. "Doctor's orders."

"When do you go back?"

"Friday, if I want." I rubbed my face. Early mornings still were not so fun, even if the circumstances were ideal. "And I think I want."

"Oh. That means I'll be by myself in class for two days."

"You seem… disappointed, Jaune." Winter chastised, giving him a soft punch on the arm. "You gonna miss her or something?"

He turned a very adorable shade of pink. "N-no more than usual, really."

"Uh huh, sure."

I wanted to lean over the back of the front seat and glare at him in my most menacing way. I was unable, however. Stupid leg. Ruining all my fun.

"Here we go, guys." Winter pointed out the windshield. The large crayon-looking sun sign hung against the front of the building, reflecting the real sun down at us. "Cholesterol, ho!"

With a jolt, we pulled into the lot and parked up against the curb. With a stutter, Winter shut the car off and made to get out. I, of course, was unable. My sister made haste around to my side of the car, pulling the door open.

"Jaune, c'mere." she said, gesturing over at him. "Help me extricate her."

With a quick flick, she grabbed my wheelchair from the rear floor and sprung it open right next to the door opening. She had to wiggle the frame a few times to get it to lock into place, as the frame was older and disobedient, we found.

"Okay, what do I do?" he asked, helpfully coming around behind her.

"Come her and grab this."

I didn't know what 'this' was gonna be, and if I had, I would have protested. Because very suddenly I was pulled backwards across the rear sear and out of the door. Not expecting this, I flinched, causing them both to have to suddenly re-position their hands on me to stop my dumb ass from falling out of the car and onto the pavement. The stupid garter-like belt under my clothes that held up my cast so it didn't slip downward was a popular grab handle Winter had started using to drag me in and out of wherever it was I was lying. So needless to say, I was not prepared for double the force on it.

"Ay!" I yelled, slipping through their grasps. "Watch where you're pullin'!"

Neither seemed very apologetic, as they shifted their grips to try and get me out of the car and into the chair. It took me a second, but I had suddenly noticed that Jaune had caught my fall by putting his hand in a slightly PG-13 place to support my upper body. I looked down at his hand, then twisted my face up towards his, a sly smile growing on it.

"Jaune, your hand." I mentioned, doing the eye thing to grab his attention. "Not a hand-hold"

His face went scarlet. Not angry-scarlet, not quite embarrassed-scarlet either. Somewhere in the middle.

"You moved!" he yelled, twisting his wrist so that it came up under my armpit instead, and more than gently hoisting me backwards and into the wheelchair. "It's your fault."

Winter had seen it happen too, chuckling to herself. "You getting frisky, Frenchie?"

"Shut up!" he yelled. "She caused this!"

He almost jumped backwards with his arms in the air, as to show that he _hadn't_ violated me in any way shape or form. Especially not in front of Winter. I think he was still scared of her at this point. To be expected. She was still the tallest person I knew. And the most rugby-ist. You didn't stand in my sister's way for very long, especially when it came to matters involving _me._ But she seemed amused by Jaune's little mishap.

She thought we were adorable. Rightfully so. We were damn precious.

"Okay, I'd tell you to buckle up, but you'd ignore me anyways." she said, taking up position behind me and starting to push me towards the restaurant. With a very ladylike flail of her leg, she slammed the heavy iron door shut behind us.

"You's right." I said, adjusting myself so I could be more comfortable. The chair hadn't grown a seatbelt in the time since she'd last instructed me to do so anyways. "C'mon, Jaune!"

He didn't want to c'mon, he was still sour. His little arms were crossed against his chest in protest, his usually combed blond locks had become disheveled. I didn't even try to resist the urge to giggle, laughing into my hand at him. What a _dork._

We pushed our way through the door and into the little diner-dressed restaurant, complete with little sun logos on the door's handle. The smell of syrup and Frosted Flakes wafted throughout of the building and into my nose. I was hungry again. Very much so. As we approached the little podium that read 'please wait to be seated', we found that we wouldn't have to wait very long. The restaurant was mostly empty, and one of the waitresses skipped up to us with a big smile on her face.

"Hello, _bonjour, bienvenue Chez Cora. Trois, aujourd'hui?"_

" _Oui, bonjour._ _Ç_ _a va?"_ Jaune said automatically, before catching himself. His cheeks flushed. "Wait, sorry, force of habit."

Winter and I thought this was funny. She gave him an affectionate rub of the shoulder. "Yes, for three, please. Low table, if you can."

"But of course!" the waitress smiled, her accent thick and blocky, _very_ much unlike Jaune or Ines. "By the window is o-kay with you?"

"If it's not to much trouble."

This particular Quebecer seemed a lot more inviting and friendly than anyone else we had met that day. We followed her over to the front of the building, tucking ourselves into the table she had pointed out and layed the three menus on. English, of course. I pulled myself closer to the edge of the table and locked the brakes on my chair. Jaune sat down next to me, scooting closer himself.

"Can I in-trest you in some coffee this morning? Orange juice?"

"I'll have one, two sugar." Winter said, popping open her menu. "You two don't drink coffee, do you?"

"Do you have orange pekoe tea?" Jaune asked timidly, his hands firmly squeezed between his legs.

"Of course!" the waitress, Emilie, scribbled this down. "Cream or milk?"

"Uh, milk and honey."

"Right away!" She looked to me. "Yourself?"

"Chocolate milk?" I said, feeling a little out of place. I wasn't aware that Jaune liked tea. Now I felt like the kid in the room, ordering chocolate milk while my tablemates had fancy, grownup drinks.

"Back in just a moment!" she skipped away.

I settled back in my chair. My leg still hurt, but I was dealing with it. Lucky for me at that moment, the pain had subsided from the sharp throbbing from earlier to a more manageable dull constant. I knew Winter still wouldn't give up the goods, even if I asked, so I had condemned myself to the pain for now. It probably had something to do with two hours of being perfectly level, followed by suddenly being on a slight angle in the chair's sling, causing blood to rush through my leg and into my foot. Oh well. Nothing I could do.

"I wonder if we'll make it to class today." I said to distract myself.

Jaune looked at his watch. "I doubt it. We'll probably be a couple of minutes late."

It was almost quarter to nine. Class started at nine. I knew we weren't, even with the fastest car in the world. Which at the time, conveniently had three seats. British cars are weird.

"Do you think they'd mind?"

"Yes. They would mind." he said, examining his menu. "Like, a lot. We're very much skipping school. Does the school know why you're gone?"

"I think so." I guessed. "Winter?"

"Oh, yeah, I called them. They know. So does the bank, the insurance company, the passport office, the people who deal with the health cards, aaand my own financial company."

Jaune seemed perplexed.

"Why did they have to know?"

"Change of address for me." I said, fiddling with the napkin wrapped around my fork.

"Change of address?"

"Oh, I moved in with my sister." I pointed over at her. "Everyone needs to know."

"Oh? Why'd you do that?"

I flinched. I had my reasons for leaving. I wasn't really interested in telling Jaune just yet.

"Change of scenery."

He seemed pleased with this answer. I too, started to flip through the menu, properly reading each dish over and over. Everything looked far too good and far too bad for me. That's what I like about breakfast food restaurants, though. It's all so _excellent._ I caught the eye of our waitress again as she started to skip back over. I already knew what I wanted, I was just going through my menu for fun at this point.

With a large silver platter in her hand, Emilie strode over and very carefully placed our drinks down. My tall glass of brown cow juice, one empty tea cup, one empty coffee mug, and two steaming white ceramic pots of early morning vigor were all placed down in the centre of the table.

"'Ave we decided?" she asked, pulling a pen and pad from the front of her apron.

"I think so. Kids?" Winter started. We both nodded with enthusiasm. "I'll have the Cora's special."

"And how would you like your eggs?"

"Sunny side up."

She scribbled this down, before turning to me.

"Strawberry-banana pancakes!" I cheered, smiling wide. The waitress seemed amused by me. Good, because I'm damn amusing. Wouldn't want anyone going around thinking I was anything but. "Please."

"Of course!" she responded, trying to match my enthusiasm. "Table syrup or Canadian maple?"

As if there was any other option but the right one. "Canadian maple."

More scribbles. She turned to Jaune. "And for you?"

"Blueberry Fields, please."

"Mm-kay, regular or soy cream?"

"Regular, I guess."

She tapped the tip of her pen against the pad, folding it up and sliding it back down and away.

"I will be back shortly!"

"Thank you!" Jaune and I said in unison. Gosh, maybe Emmy was right. Maybe we _were_ the same person. Maybe we _are._ Nah, couldn't be. But here's to hoping.

"By the way, I like your dress." Jaune said after a moment.

I looked down at myself. "What, this old thing?"

"Yeah, it's pretty."

Now it was my turn to flush. Before I had the chance to do anything about it, Winter snickered from her end of the table, stirring her coffee loudly. "That's not old, I _just_ bought you that. A week ago."

"Yeah, I know," I smiled like a lightbulb. "I like it a lot. It makes me feel like Minnie Mouse."

And it really did. High-necked, black and white, with a big silly bow tied around the back. Now, I realize Minnie wears a red dress, but that's not my point. I got to feel like a princess, and that made me feel pretty damn good.

"But why a dress? You normally wear pants or overalls, I haven't seen you wear a dress since like the third grade."

"Can't wear pants over the cast." I said, taking a sip of the chocolate milk. Judging by Winter's change in expression, I had collected some of it on my lip. I didn't bother wiping it off. "So dresses it is for another nine months."

"Nine months!?"

"It's a leg, Jaune. It doesn't fix easily. Besides, then I have to wear a leg brace for a while after that, so get used to me dressing up like this every day."

He seemed pleased enough with my answer.

"Another bonus of wearing dresses, and living with Winter is that I'm allowed to have a purse now." I proudly grabbed it from under my seat where I had secured it in the chair's cargo sling. "All my one worldly possession goes in here."

I popped the little blue leather bag open. It was by no means an expensive or fashionable purse, being only the bare minimum to replace the pockets I had forfeited when I broke my hecking leg and could no longer wear pants. But it had enough style that it looked right with my outfit and my Mary Janes.

"What would that be?"

I pulled it out.

"A second-hand cellphone so I can call my sister!" I said with as much glee as I could muster. "Because we don't have a home phone at her apartment!"

There was another added 'bonus' to having a broken leg, one that I wasn't quite comfortable telling him just yet. Or maybe ever. I was literally useless as a whole. I couldn't dress myself, I couldn't move by myself, and I couldn't even bathe myself. Winter had to do all these things for me. She had to dress me in the mornings by hand because I couldn't bend my leg to reach downwards, and just the act of sitting upright to get my dress on was a painful process. So she had to be there every time I needed in and out or even around the chair.

Worst 'perk' of it all was having to get sponge-baths. By hand. From my sister. Twice a week. I couldn't even enjoy it like the characters in manga and the like did. They always got to be washed by someone they admired or by their lover or something like that. Not by their older sisters. At least, not in the ones _I_ read. And you can't even use hot water for sponge baths, either. Because steam ruins plaster, so the baths have to be cold.

I don't know if I ever told Jaune this. I might've, but it's pretty embarrassing. Eventually we figured out how to make washing me easier and more dignified, but that was like four months later. The tiny bathtub in Winter's apartment didn't make it _that much_ more dignified, but close enough for me.

"Oh yeah, where do you live now?"

"'Bout halfway between our school and Sir Robert Bordon. It's a short drive."

"Can I bike it?"

"Probably. If your parents let you go that far."

"They'll let me."

We paused for a moment. This was good, since our breakfasts had just come out of the kitchen and were on their way over now. My heartrate increased, and my mouth began to leak chewing lubricant. There's something that I studied in biology that stated that the sudden preparation of the body for food was a preprogrammed response that humans developed from when we were still scavenger animals and needed to have quick-responding digestive systems so we could literally dine and dash, but this was only a convenience now.

"Sunnyside up for you, Blueberry Fields for you..." she placed their orders down first, followed by mine. "...and Strawberry-banana for you. _B_ _on appétit!"_

I don't think she was gone from our table for more than about eight seconds before I had already shoved about a third of my plate directly into my face. Syrup for the syrup god, you know.

"Weiss, napkin!" Winter teased, tossing me one. Any older and I'd have thrown it back in her face. "Like a lady."

Mouth full of pancake, syrup, strawberry and banana, I relented and unfolded the napkin into my lap. It was about then that I noticed that I had forgotten a very important thing to do. Something I should have done the moment I saw him.

"Wait, hang on." I said, swallowing and grabbing my purse again. So maybe it had _two_ possessions in it. "Take this."

Jaune stopped eating for a moment, dropping his fork gently. Outstretched in my hand was nothing more than a faded and scratched up Sharpie that I had found in the bottom of a desk that had come with the apartment. But it had ink in it, and that was all that mattered.

"What do you want me to do with this?"

"Sign my cast." I pulled out of the table and turned so my leg was presented to him.

"Oh..." he seemed perplexed by my presentation. But he smiled anyways. "Okay!"

With an eager grin, he uncapped the marker and leaned over, easily scribbling _Jaune_ on the plaster surface. I gleefully took the marker back from him. Lucky for me he had written it up on the top of my thigh. I flipped the marker around in my hand.

And scribbled ' _Weiss +'_ just above where he had his name, encircling both with a little heart.

Winter spit out her egg in a fit of laughter as Jaune went beet red.

And everything was right in the world again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

 _December 31_ _st_ _, 1999_

The new millennium was coming. It was only four hours away now. Was I ready? I dunno, is anyone ready for a literally once-in-ten-lifetimes milestone? The year two-thousand loomed, hung perilously in front of our adolescent faces, ready to pounce on us and make us new. We were at mine and Winter's little dummy apartment today. That is where we were gonna rake in the new year.

The whole crew was here, myself, Jaune, Emmy, and even Russ had come around all by himself on the bus. My brother _wanted_ to come, but he wasn't allowed out of the house after dark by himself. And to think when _we_ were ten, we were allowed to do whatever we wanted. Jaune and I went trick-or-treating back then, and now all of a sudden, little Whitley couldn't be trusted to his older sisters? You can see who the favourite child was for yourself.

"So what're we gonna do when all computers stop working at midnight?" Emmy asked, halfway between joking and serious.

I laughed. "Start a revolution with spears and slingshots, obviously."

"But we won't have any money then! How do we afford things?"

"Spears and slingshots." Russel repeated for me. "Weren't you listening?"

She crossed her arms, kicking a couch cushion in his direction. He narrowly avoided it, the pillow just barely grazing across the top of his hair. Which today was died along the front a vibrant red. And shaved along the sides. A very new-age look, but I liked it. None of our teachers did, but Russ and I agreed that they could shove that kind of idea right up where the sun didn't shine.

"Oy, watch where you're kicking that!" I said, as the pillow narrowly avoided taking out a vase full of flowers on the counter. "If we break anything, Winter's gonna be pissed as hell."

"No, I'm not." She said, materializing from the kitchen. Well, less 'kitchen' and more' closet with a fridge and a tiny oven'. This apartment was anything but spacious. "I hate that vase, if you break it, who cares, I'll just buy a better one."

I hobbled over to the pillow, my leg brace doing an excellent job of supporting me and my stupid injury. I bent over to get it, trying to keep all my weight on one side.

"Why haven't you replaced it already?"

She shrugged. "Laziness, mostly."

"Isn't there an Ikea, like, literally just down the road?" Emmy asked.

"Yeah, but again, laziness."

"That's a whole lotta lazy. Why not just 'accidentally' have it fall out the window? I'm sure a fall from the third floor would be enough to encourage it to get replaced."

My sister smiled.

"I like the way you think, Em. But not today. Today, we celebrate the most arbitrary of holidays _without_ throwing my vases, okay?"

"Okay."

A large plate of food was brought out and set down on the table between us all.

"Snacks, anyone?"

I immediately reached out and grabbed like six bits of cheese before anyone else could. There was always a limited amount of cheese at our apartment since cheese is apparently crazy expensive, worse than even dark chocolate by weight. We bought our cheese from this little farm-fresh store down in Manotick, next to the restaurant my sister worked at. It was considerably more expensive than the cheap stuff at Costco, but I always found it didn't leave that plasticy aftertaste.

"Weiss," my sister scolded. "Remember to share. That's for everyone."

"Mmm, don't wanna." I said, shoving two of the hunks of cheese in my mouth. _Ugh,_ it was good. I could see Jaune's face fall a little. "Except maybe for you."

I offered him a piece of cheese.

"Thank you very kindly," he said, taking it from me before turning to the others. "Anyone wanna split this with me?"

"Still lactose intolerant."

"Ew, I'm not gonna share with _you."_

"I had a bunch in the kitchen. Thank you, though."

I sat back down as Jaune shrugged, grabbing a corn chip and laying his cheese on it. He dipped the combination into the little bowl of salsa. This looked like such a good idea, that I might try it. I grabbed a chip as well, doubling up on the salsa on my cheese. I _was_ good!

"Holy cow!"

I dipped the rest of my chip into the salsa to collect some more. Yep, just as good the second time around.

"This is amazing!"

"Wait, did you just _double-dip?"_ Emmy asked, her tone becoming almost disgusted. "Why would you do that in _our_ bowl of salsa? No one's gonna have any more of that!"

I stopped, halfway through chewing the very-clearly double-dipped chip. I glanced nervously back over to the other three. Jaune and Russ were looking over at Emmy as well, who had this look on her face like I'd just stabbed Stripes and made him into a fashionable hat. I looked to Jaune. Then Russ. They blinked at me for a moment, before looking right at each other. Then, by some miracle of timing, they both reached forward and dipped two chips into the 'tainted' salsa.

" _Ugh!"_ Emmy yelled, dropping her celery into her lap. "You three are _gross!"_

"I feel fine. Russel?"

"I'm all good. Looks like there's nothing gross about double dipping."

I flushed, hearing my sister chuckle from the kitchen.

"Awe, you guys..."

Russel slapped me on the shoulder as Emmy stood up from the table in a huff, disappearing to the bathroom. "We got you, girl. Right, Jaune?"

"Hell yeah, we do. I'm not afraid of no cooties like little miss prim and proper over there."

" _It's not cooties, you idiot, it's bacteria and germs!"_ she yelled from the other room.

Russ chuckled in her direction. "With the amount of curry you eat I'm thinking you have enough fire and spice in your mouth were germs won't even matter."

" _UGHHH!"_

"Gosh, she's a little strange, eh?" Jaune said quietly, taking more salsa on the same chip again. Jaune is also a double dipper, it seems. What a guy.

"Eh, I still love her," I replied, grabbing some cucumbers. "She's weird, but she's ours."

"I'm not anyone's!" she chastised, returning back into the room. "You've gone and ruined all the salsa, so now what am I gonna eat? The guac? I don't think so!" She sat down at the table again.

"You got something against guac?" Winter asked, coming back into the side room with another bottle of Coke and her book. She slumped herself into the couch behind the table, but not before passing the table and grabbing some corn chips off of it. "I made this guac by hand."

"No, no, it's… _ugh_ I just won't eat anything! You all are messed up!"

We laughed. Emmy crossed her arms and pouted. So cute.

"So, how's the leg?" Russ asked, refilling his glass of dark and fizzy. "Still hurts?"

I shrugged, doing the 'so-so' thing with my hand. "I'll live. The limp makes me look like a monkey, though."

"Gym class exemptions must be alright, though."

"Yeah, but we were doing floor hockey, and I'm kinda good at that, and now I can't play."

"So, what, you makin' Jaune play for two?"

I laughed. "Jaune can barely play for one."

"Hey!"

"What? It's true! You suck at hockey!"

He made a frumpy face. Jaune's frumpy face has always been adorable. "That's because I'm not born in Canada."

"Neither am I, dummy," I gestured to Russ. "Literally only he is Canadian here. And Russ, you're pretty good at it, right?"

He took a second to think about it.

"Nope. I suck."

"See?" I turned back to Jaune. "It's not about being Canadian, it's about practice and determination. What do you think, Em?"

She raised her hands in front of her. "Keep me out of this, this is between you and your boyfriend."

I blinked at her.

"He's not my boyfriend."

"I'm not her boyfriend."

Winter's head popped up from behind the couch. "We will have none of that talk in this house. You are all too young for that."

"I am too young for that." Jaune parroted.

"So am I, Emmy." I followed up.

Although I'll admit, we _did_ spend almost every non-school waking moment together. But that sort of talk _was_ way too early since we were only twelve. Well, almost twelve.

"You know what I meant." She chimed, defensively. "You guys make my life so hard."

"Sorry, which one of us has to sleep in a leg sling, do physiotherapy, and require help going up and down the stairs?" I asked, leaning over the table with my chin in my hands. I gave her an innocent little grin. She glared back for a second. I always assumed that whenever I did that, whomever I was doing it to would just stick their tongue out at me, as was usually the case with Jaune or Russ. But not so with Emmy.

No, I received a cucumber slice to the nose.

"Ha!" I sat back, shocked. How dare! The little green circle of cold stuck to my face, refusing to fall off. Jaune and Russ did nothing to help, sitting back in their respective chairs and giggling like little girls. "Why?!"

"You were too close to my face. Dunno why you're complaining, you got free vegetable."

I blinked, peeling the offending green circle off my face. In an act of rebellion, I ate the damn cucumber in one bite, glaring at Em the whole time.

"Meanie."

"Weirdo."

We stuck our tongues out at each other for a minute, trying to outdo the others' childish faces. We were going nowhere, so we gave up. Jaune and Russ seemed amused by us, as usually they were. Russ broke the silence next.

"So anything exciting happen to anyone the last little while?"

He'd been gone to his grandparent's house in Florida over Christmas, so he'd missed some stuff.

"Not really-" I started, being cut off.

"Yeah, Weiss had a piano recital." Jaune cut in.

"Jaune, shut up." I said, elbowing him in the side.

"What, you were really good! It was all Christmas music and stuff from all the other students, but she was doing the entire Nutcracker suite. All _twenty_ minutes of it!"

"Jaune. _Shut up."_ I elbowed him again. "You said you wouldn't tell."

"What, were you _there,_ Jaune?" Emmy asked, an evil grin crossing her already smug face.

"Yeah, front row, why?"

I buried my face in my hands. "I invited him as my guest and they put him front and centre."

A loud and collective _awwww_ came from Russ, Emmy, and my sister in unison, flushing my face a bright red. Jaune was just too damn proud of himself for his own good. I punched him in the arm. _Man,_ I wanted to disappear. He had promised he wouldn't tell that I'd invited him as my guest. But hey, at least he hadn't told them that we'd gone 'out' for dinner first or anything.

"Hey, but before the show, Weiss made me take her on a _daaaate."_

This motherfucker.

I rearranged his face with a pillow.

/…/

One hour remained.

Then the new year. No, the new _millennium._

Our movie was finished, and it was alright, I guess. I don't know if I was a fan of the 'new' Star Wars movie yet, but it was fine. Winter had found it for sale in Blockbuster back in October, and we'd just never gotten around to watching it. It felt a little predictable, and the acting was, lets be honest, _brutal._ But the podracing scene was by far the best.

Can't believe they killed Liam Neeson, though. Caught me by complete surprise. I actually almost left the room. Stupid leg, making it too much effort to get up. Actually, while we're on the subject of this, why is it that the Jedi are supposed to be these impenetrable warriors, with years and years of lightsabre training, yet it's always _one S_ ith apprentice that can absolutely wreck shop on these guys like they're damn padawans? Like, fully serious, Qui-Gon should have had no problem slicing that cheat-sword wielding red idiot in half.

Anyway, that's beside the point.

The movie was done, and now it was around eleven at night. We were parked up on the couch, all huddled together like people-shaped peas in a corduroy pod. Winter was in the kitchen, having what had to have been her fifth cup of coffee. Emmy was actually lying across our laps, facing in with her arms wrapped tightly around me and her face pressed hard into my stomach. I didn't know if she was asleep or intentionally trying to smother herself, but she was out and I was stuck. Winter stuck her face over the back of the couch.

"So what you-" she yawned. "-kids wanna do now?"

I was still wide awake.

"I 'unno. Maybe we should go outside!"

"It's the middle of winter, Weiss." Russ said, pointing out to the balcony where a large amount of snow had built up against the glass.

"Yeah, but you all brought your coats, right?"

"Y-yeah, but-"

"Then we'll go outside!" I cheered, moving to get up. I, however, could not. "As soon as we get this lump off of me!"

The lump squeezed tighter. "Mmm-mmm." Her voice vibrated against my stomach, the ticklish feeling making me squirm. "Mno."

"Emmy, get up." I said down to her hair. Her head shook. "Damnit Em, what if I have to pee? Would you let me up then?"

"No."

My shoulders dropped and I rolled my eyes so dramatically my head nearly came off.

"Look, you can sleep next year, how about that?"

"Blech."

" _Psst, Weiss."_ Jaune whispered, catching my attention. I looked over, to see he had his fingers mere centimetres from her sides. My face lit up.

"You have five seconds to get up, or else."

She tightened. "Else what?"

"Five..."

"No."

"Four..."

She buried her face deeper into my shirt, almost hard enough to become one with the soft cotton.

"Three...You better let go."

"Nuh-uh."

" _Two..."_

She blew a raspberry into my stomach, making me giggle.

"O-one..."

In hindsight, I should have see this coming. But I did not, as I was a mere child with poor foresight.

"Zero. Jaune?"

He jabbed his fingers into her sides.

" _WAAAH!"_

She tightened and _rotated,_ coiling up like a spring and pulling the two of us off the couch and tumbling onto the floor, where we landed with a muffled _whump._ I let out a short yelp as a tiny twinge of pain went down my leg from the middle of my thigh. Emmy quickly untangled herself from me and sprang backwards, away from the couch and away from Jaune and his pointy fingers. She glared at all of us as I did a quick, laughing once over of my leg. All seemed well. Except for Emmy.

" _What the hell, Jaune?!"_

He laughed so hard he was in tears. Russ was, as well. I think I was the only still able to form sentences. Which was good, since, after hearing an loud noise and a yelp, Winter had returned to the living room in a rather speedy fashion.

"What's going on in here, Weiss why are you on the floor, boys what's so funny?!" all came out at once.

" _They threw me off the couch!"_

"Technically you threw _me_ off the couch." I corrected, pointing a finger at her. This was probably not the smartest thing to say, as I could see Winter's eyes glaze over in red. "Ar-arguably my fault, though, no one needs to pin any blame anywhere."

My sister visibly softened. "Well, as long as everyone's alright."

"We're good!" I said, turning back up the couch. "We were just deciding to go outside, right guys?"

Russ and Jaune nodded, wiping tears from their eyes. Winter huffed, smiling at us like we were somewhere between annoying and adorable, and that seemed like it was alright with her.

"If you kids want to go outside, you better bundle, it's like twenty below."

"Yes, Winter!" I called for everyone. "Hey c'mon, let's go!"

I stood up from the floor, taking my time and bracing myself against the couch as I did so I wouldn't put too much weight on my poor, aching leg. Emmy got up as well, keeping her distance from us all, clearly worried she'd be tazed again. Fair point, I'd have done it if I could reach.

"Kay, I need someone's help." I gestured to grab the group's attention. "I have to take the brace off to put pants on, and I can't do it by myself because I'm not allowed to bend that far yet."

Normally Winter would be the one to do this, but she had stepped back into her bedroom, probably to change.

"I'll help." Jaune said, almost immediately. I cringed, ever so slightly. Not because I didn't think he could do it, Just somewhere deep down I didn't quite feel right having him see me like this. So vulnerable.

"I got this, buddy." Russ said, slapping him on the shoulder. "You go help Em."

Emmy made a face. "Jaune will _not_ be helping me with _anything."_

He just shrugged, as I stepped away with Russ and into my own bedroom. It was out of the way enough that no one would be able to see into the room. This was probably the most embarrassing thing anyone has ever seen me do up until this point, and I was a lot happier that it was Russ and not Jaune. I'd have been okay with Em doing it, up until the part where she'd need to tighten the clasps as I _know_ she'd do them too tight.

"Ahh..." I landed on my back on the bed, swinging my legs up onto the soft comforters. "Okay, you may begin."

Actually, I'm also glad Jaune didn't see how messy my room was. What a disaster.

"How do I do this." he asked, coming over and kneeling down on the floor next to my bed. "I don't wanna break it again."

"Just unclasp it and open it like a clam shell." I gestured sort of at my knee.

He did, fiddling with the clasps down on my shin, having difficulty with how tight Winter had tightened them so the brace would work properly. As his hands came up along my leg, he didn't even flinch once, getting each clasp open with fair amounts of force. Even the clasp way up on my upper thigh posed no threat to Russel, even though any _other_ male around our age would get squeamish and shy around touching a girl. _Especially_ on the thighs. That is where super-cooties came from.

"Like so?"

The two halves separated.

"Yep. You're braver than most, Russ."

He shrugged. "It's just a leg."

I nodded, agreeing as I sat upright. "'Spose you're right. Can you hand me some pants?"

He leaned back and grabbed the pair of loose jeans I had been wearing during dinner earlier. He tossed them to me.

"Do you need my help, or are you good with this?"

I shrugged. "A little help would be nice. Just slide them on over top my jammies."

He grabbed the waist of my pants, and slid them over my feet, stuffing the cuffs of my pyjama pants down the denim holes.

"Why'd you let me do this and not Jaune?"

I shivered as he carefully slid my leg into my pants. My mouth stwitched.

"I dunno. I just don't really know why not. I trust him, and all, just..."

"I think I know."

"Why's that?"

"Because I think you _li-ike him."_ he said, with a sudden, effeminate tone in his voice.

"Hey." I snapped. "Don't be gross, Russel. It's nothing like that."

"Mmm, okay, whatever you say."

I'd have kicked him, but he currently had my legs under his control, so I could do nothing but sit and scoot my butt into my pants. Also my prime kicking leg was out of commission. Stupid leg.

"It's not true!"

"Uh huh."

I tried anyways. The moment my un-clamped leg moved off the bed, a short spike of pain fired down it like a lightning bolt. I winced, sucking air in through my teeth and trying not to cry as Russ just chuckled down at me while he struggled with the button on my pants. I crossed my arms and pouted.

"Just put the brace back on."

He did as he was told, wrapping the polymer cage around my leg again and folding it closed with multiple snaps. Once they were clicked in, he tightened ever clasp so it was constricting but not blood-off-cutting around the tight denim jeans. And my leg.

"Happy now, Ice Queen?"

"I will hurt you if you mention any of this to Jaune." I threatened. Hard to be threatening in pink jeans and a hoodie with Rowlf the Dog on it, though. If anything, it worked against me. I relented, and allowed myself to be pulled up and into a standing position. "C'mon, we're gonna go outside."

As we reconvened in the living room, I had my hand firmly gripped around Russ's wrist to make sure he'd behave. He did, so I didn't have to exert any force. Both Jaune and Emmy were already in their coats and boots and ready to leave the house. I have to say, Jaune's little red pom-pom hat was about as cute as snow hats come, if we're being honest here. And Emmy's little earmuffs, ugh if I was Winter's age I'd be hard pressed to not snuggle their adorable little selves into my face. How my sister was able to stop herself from doing just that is a true display of rigorous self-control.

"I can't believe you let a _boy_ touch you, Weiss." Emmy said, recoiling slightly.

"Were you gonna do it?" Russ asked. Emmy looked away. "Didn't think so."

"It's against my…ugh, never mind, let's just go." She turned and pushed herself out of the house and into the cold hallway.

I chuckled in her general direction as I pulled my coat and scarf on, trying my best to replicate Winter's fancy and fashionable knot that she liked to tie for me, but I came up _way_ short. I ended up just undoing the whole thing and settling with 'fold in half then stuff the ends through the loop' way of tying. You know, the classic.

With our coats on, we all ended up outside the house and in the little snowy hallway that separated the two apartments. This complex didn't have normal hallways that were inside, no, they were built like old motel buildings with the walkway that was _outside_ in the _cold._ Sadists.

"Hey, wait up!" Winter called, hopping out the door after us with only one boot on and her coat loosely thrown around herself. "Geez, I'm supposed to supervise you guys, but you're always runnin' off on me!"

I flushed. "Oh yeah, sorry."

She got her other boot on with a sigh, her hands on her hips but a smile on her face. She briefly shook her head, the dyed bangs flopping weightlessly against her face like curtains, before pushing forward towards the stairs. "Come on, guys. I have an idea."

We followed her down to the parking lot, both Jaune and Russ helping my disabled ass down the steep, open steel staircase so I didn't trip and fall. Thanks to the copious use of salt our landlady liked, the stairs were never iced over or dangerous, the were just rusty as hell. I knew they'd eventually rust _off_ the building, but by my calculations, that was a long way off.

Winter's truck sat patiently waiting for us, covered in a light dusting of snow and under the single, lone street light in the lot. The snow fell gently against it, like a picture from a calendar or postcard. She had recently bought this crummy old Ford, which we had affectionately named 'The Super-Dirty', from the first ever government auction website for the grand total of four hundred dollars. Best winter beater of all time. Now, we still had the Pontiac, but she kept it in a storage locker over the cold months so it would stay rust free.

As a group, we all cleaned off a window and door so we could get in without bringing the white and frosty in with us.

"Alright, mount up, soldiers!" Winter cheered, getting two rousing whoops from Jaune and Russ. I tried not to shiver as my whoop was interrupted by a bunch of snow falling from the roof of the tall truck right down the back of my coat. Emmy caught me doing the _ack_ face and laughed as she climbed into the back of the truck with Russ and Jaune. I shook out the snow and climbed up into the passenger seat, having to drag my sorry ass up the tall side steps and into the soft cloth seat.

"I have an idea that I think you four will like." Winter explained, cranking the tired old service truck into life. "Seat belts, everyone."

Five clicks.

And then we were on the road. As it turns out, not many people were out driving at eleven-thirty at night on New Year's eve around the Nepean neighbourhood. Most of the population of Ottawa was downtown on Parliament Hill, watching the concert on the big sound stage they'd set up. Winter had asked me if I'd wanted to go, but hanging out with eight-hundred-thousand people in the cold with a bum leg didn't exactly sound appealing to me. But eating bad Chinese food and watching movies with my friends to ring in the New Year was much better. In my opinion.

"First stop, Tim's!"

We plowed along the empty neighbourhood, down towards the shopping district just south of us in the area we all called 'Riocan'. Nice little collection of stores, nothing too imposing. But there was a Tims we could all get to on one bus. We spent a lot of time at this particular donut shop hanging out after class as it was, as I said, readily available to us.

Winter's truck cut a smooth and easy path through the snow as she pulled in to the uncleared parking lot of the Tim's, up to the drive-through speaker before being shut off. She cranked her window down.

" _Hi, welcome to Tim Hortons, can I take your order?"_ came a sleepy and depressed sounding voice from the little black speaker.

"Yeah, we'll have, uh, four meduim hot chocolates, and one extra large triple-triple."

A moment of button beeping. " _That's nine dollars twenny-four, up at d' window."_

The line went dead as we advanced around the side of the building. Clearly someone was not impressed having to work New Years. I wiped my nose on my sleeve as we arrived at the window. A very sullen and disappointed looking teenager was manning the window, which slid open with a whoosh. Winter handed over a ten, which the surly teen stuffed into the register before handing back the three quarters and a single, green penny. After about a minute of mulling about in the lonely store, they came back to the window and handed out two trays of drinks, one with three hot chocolates and one with one and the coffee. We thanked the young teen who didn't reciprocate as we left.

The drink was warm through my mittens and the steam pooled around my face with a dampness that I think we all found quite nice. Em, Russ and Jaune were busy in the back seat handing around their own drinks to one another and arguing between themselves. Jaune caught me staring and smiled at me without stopping his argument with Em. I quickly flushed and retreated into my seat so he couldn't see me anymore.

Shit. Maybe Russ was right. Nah, he couldn't be. Russel didn't understand the intricacies of being a girl, how would _he_ know?

I distracted myself by counting streetlights and gently sipping the piping hot chocolate as we made out way to a park that was just on the outskirts of what was considered Nepean. Still well with in Ottawa city limits, but the neighbourhood didn't stretch out this far, so we were alone in the dark serenity. I counted thirty-seven streetlights before my sister pulled us into the parking lot of the little soccer park. She shut the truck off, and it rattled into the cab as the old steel didn't like the cold or the having to work in it.

"C'mon, you four. I've got something you'll all enjoy."

We all got out of the truck and followed her around to the back. She dropped the tailgate with a heavy thump and grabbed her toolbox, dragging it over to herself and cranked it open. It was lined with fireworks.

Wait, fireworks?

"Dude, sweet!" Russel said, grabbing a roman candle. "This is awesome!"

I grabbed one as well, turning it over in my hands.

"That seems dangerous?" Emmy tried, crossing her arms and hiding behind Jaune, who himself seemed intrigued enough to take a gander into the box.

"Nah, don't worry about it." Winter said, pulling out some mortars and a barbecue lighter. I hopped up onto the tailgate, using Russ for support to take weight off my leg. About fifty yards away from the back of the truck, Winter had crouched down and set up the little mortars facing away from us. She yelled back over her shoulder. "What time is it?"

I checked my watch, taking a sip of hot chocolate. _Damn_ it was good. "Eleven-fifty-three."

Wow, that had caught up to us quickly. I didn't realize it had been so long at the coffee place and driving around the town.

Winter strolled back over to us, and helped the others up and into the back of the truck. "Damn, it's almost time, kiddo." She rubbed my hat with a gloved hand. "See, I was gonna hang out with my friends from school tonight, but I think blowing stuff up with you guys is a lot more rewarding."

"How much different would that have been?" Jaune asked. "What would you have done at _that_ party?"

Winter shrugged, taking a harsh swig of her coffee. "Probably snag a New Year's kiss from Alexi's friend James, get drunk as hell, and eating far too many of those little cupcakes Lex's mom makes."

"Ew, people kiss on New Years?" Emmy asked, sliding as far away as possible from Jaune and Russel. I subconsciously scooted closer to Jaune. "What a gross tradition."

Another shrug from my sister. Another shiver from me.

We sat and drank our drinks for the next five minutes, letting the snow fall gently against us. It was unnerving how empty the city was at this hour. But at the same time, it was nice how full I personally felt, sitting there in the cold, the dark, with only mediocre hot chocolate and Jaune to keep me warm. I _liked_ it. I felt whole.

"Okay folks, I think it's time."

She strolled back over with the lighter spun around her index finger with a light skip in her step. She seemed just as excited as I was.

"What's the minute?"

I checked again. My heart jumped. "Fifty- _nine!"_

 _The millenium loomed._ The sound of the lighter clicking was a welcome one. Followed shortly by a sharp set of sizzles. Winter dropped the lighter as she stumbled back over to us.

"Okay, they're one a thirty-second delay, everyone take cover!"

We didn't, of course, sitting put in the back of the truck. I could barely contain myself, tapping my leg uncomfortably quickly against the cold tailgate. My mitted hand found Jaune's, and I clamped down around it. He didn't resist, in fact he actually gripped back. My heart continued its apathetic arrhythmia as I watched and waited for the zero hour.

"Count me down, Weiss-Cake."

I pulled my watch wiggling my sleeve one-handed. The second hand ticked closer.

"Ten… nine… eight..." I took a breath of cold air, skipping a few seconds. "Three… two… one..."

The second hand clicked over.

 _January 1_ _st_ _, 2000._

The fireworks went off, lighting up into the night sky. The explosions weren't as big or as impressive as Canada Day, ninety-eight. But they were to _me._ Especially when I did what I did next. Winter's original plan for New Year's with _her_ friends had given me an idea, and Russel's _annoying_ pestering may or may not have been correct. I wasn't sure yet, but I thought I might try it out. Not even twelve years old yet, but hey, no one was stopping me. The warmth of Jaune's cheek on my mouth was the warmest it'd been since we'd left the house and frayed into the cold winter air. It was only momentary, but it was comfortable.

And I'm sure the snow in front of us started to glow red as I backed off into myself again, hiding behind the cloud of steam in my hot chocolate.

The saying every New Year's always goes ' _new year, new me',_ and that never held any resonance with my. Right up until that moment, however.

New me, hell yeah.

The other's all cheered and celebrated, Emmy and Russ jumping down off the truck to start throwing snow at each other under the glow of the cheap gas station fireworks. Jaune had been dragged down with them, my sister joining in the fun. I stayed up on my perch to watch.

I wasn't quite sure how I wanted to feel in that moment.

But I knew I liked it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Hi, I wanna preface this by saying the actions and opinions expressed within are solely those of the individuals enacting them, not me. I'll remind you this was the sixth grade, and my friends and I were stupid children. We did stupid things, said stupid stuff. We were twelve. So if you have any issues with the things we did, that's on them, not on me. I'm just here to report on it. I don't approve of it, nor did I try and stop any of it. Granted, they never stopped _me_ from doing dumb shit either, so... Don't sue me.

 _June 5_ _th_ _, 2000_

Lunchtime.

And with one of my favourite lunchtime foods, or indeed _anytime_ foods, is Winter's famous Macaroni and Cheese. The best mac and cheese. You have one bite and you want to just eat the entire dish all by yourself. Kraft Dinner ain't got shit on Winter's homemade stuff. In fact, I would blame the creamy, buttery mess of noodles and sauce for my serious addiction that lasted from ages ten to, well, now.

The mac n' chee phase.

Because her recipe is one of a kind. It started out as another Betty Crocker cookbook recipe, simple to make and simple to cook. It only took about an hour total, and even at the young age of twelve I had no issues making it myself. Winter even encouraged me to do so on some nights. But when I made it with Betty's help, it wasn't quite as good as my sister's. The recipe goes as follows:

2 cups elbow macaroni

¼ cup butter

¼ cup flower

½ teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon pepper

¼ teaspoon mustard powder

1 dash Worcestershire sauce

2 cups milk

2 cups shredded old cheddar.

Preheat oven to three-fifty, cook macaroni as directed on package and set aside. Melt butter in a three-quart saucepan on low heat. Stir in flour, salt, mustard, pepper, and Worcestershire sauce. Cook on medium, stirring constantly until mixture is smooth and bubbly. Remove from heat, add milk and bring to boil, stirring constantly. Remove from heat and stir in cheese until mixture is smooth and all the cheese is melted. Add noodles to cheese mix and blend together until all shells are coated with cheese. Pour into casserole dish and put in oven for twenty to twenty-five minutes or until bubbly. Let sit for five minutes or serve lava-hot if desired.

And boom, mac n' cheese. I encourage you to try this.

But here's where the family secrets come in. First off, you have to use more than the desired amount of butter. You take the block of butter, and you cut off a whole inch from the block. It's probably closer to a third of a cup of butter, maybe more. We go by inches.

Then you gotta use a bit extra flour, like maybe another eighth of a cup or something. And don't bother with exact measurements for the seasonings, just use dashes or shakes of the wrist. Two shakes of Worcestershire sauce, three shakes of mustard powder, and three pinches of salt and pepper each. And use three and a quarter percent homogenized milk instead of the two percent regular stuff. Oh, and fuck skim milk. Nobody likes skim milk. I would rather drink drink orange juice after just brushing my teeth than drink skim milk.

But that's not the only addition. If you use extra cheese, specifically an entire Ikea cheese-grater's worth, you'll get an even cheesier and gooey creation. I should point out that if you're watching your calories, this is not the recipe for you. And if you're lactose intolerant, _this is not the recipe for you._ And then, you add the bacon. That's right. Bacon. Right at the end when you're mixing the noodles into the cheese sauce, mix in about half a package of bacon bits, normally reserved for Caesar salad. And let me tell ya. The finished product is full of protein and so amazingly good for you. If you like cheese. Which I do.

So on this day, I had brought myself a thermos full of of Mac N' Chee for lunch time.

But I was having a serious case of the Mondays.

It had started out early in the morning, when, while brushing my teeth, the toothpaste blob destined for my mouth fell off the brush and landed in the sink before I had even had a chance to use it. Not really a huge deal by any means, but I was disappointed and I had already put the Crest tube away in the drawer. So I had to get it out _again_ and open it _again_ and squeeze out a pea-sized drop _again,_ and it really just was an inconvenience.

But then I missed the bus to school. And that meant the day was pretty much a write-off since I was late by about fifteen minutes to class, and by that time I had already been marked absent. I had to go to the office and explain that no, I was not a truant and yes, I would try my hardest to be on time for detention after school. That's right. Detention. For missing the goddamn bus. By probably thirty seconds. This school had it in for me. Like, I was the only student who had to take a city bus to school in the mornings because I lived too far away from any school bus routes, they could at least cut me some slack once in a while. OC Transpo is not a reliable source of transportation. The TTC is barely better, mind you.

AND THEN at second period math, I realized I had forgotten to do the homework over the weekend, so class was a scramble of not listening to the teacher to finish it in time. I really didn't care what I got, what were they gonna do anyways? Fail me for one day of not doing the work? I'd like to've seen them try. Not with the amount of Angry Mothering™ Winter was capable of.

But we're only at second period. I still had two to go before lunch. How could I mess those up, you ask? Well, because I'm a clumsy idiot, actually. See, then we had gym. And gym class in elementary school generally only consists of three things; dodgeball, kickball, and 'dancing' in groups. Which isn't really dancing it's twenty-five miserably twelve-year-olds and one overly enthusiastic teacher trying to show why they deserve tenure and higher pay for demonstrating control over their students. But today was dodgeball day. And I had... messed up. I accidentally beaned the shit out of some kid in the face, and then proceeded to get pelted until I couldn't stand and cried for desperate mercy. Which wasn't given. I stand by what I always said. Sixth graders are the fucking worst.

And of course, the teacher just stood around and watched. I wasn't exactly the favourite student of anyone. Not because of a sour demeanor or because I bullied people, no no. Because I was free-thinking. And I questioned _everything._ So when the opportunity arose to silence me, albeit painfully and with vinyl dodgeballs, no action was taken against the perpetrators. I dislike this mindset.

And then fourth period. Social studies. To think I'd spent the first three hours of the day socially studying why my life sucked only to be dropped into the next smelly vat of suck was an even worse time. We were supposed to be focusing on how 'people as a society evolved' and all that but instead they all decided to make it about how students who are from other countries never fit in properly with the society already at large. Basically it was Miss Elderman's mildly racist lecture on how I still had egg on my sweater from breakfast. I'd wanted to smash someone over the head with a table by about the fifth 'failure of societal co-existence'.

And now _this shit._

I was staring down at the floor.

At my mac and cheese.

And a broken thermos, glass everywhere.

And my orange juice box, leaking the sweet vitamin c-y goodness all over the classroom floor.

I seethed, breathing in and out with silent force. At that moment, I hated everyone and everything and I wanted it all to die horrific, painful, and multiple deaths all at once. This had been the last portion of cheesy goodness from the dish, and I was _so_ excited for it that I was able to put all the terrible things that had happened to me from the morning. I was willing to let it _all_ go, just by the sumptuous, beautiful wonderment that the Mac brought forth.

But I'd been forsaken by my most immutable and pervasive of foes. Gravity. And, also, my overencumbering clumsiness, but this time I blamed it solely on gravity. Unfortunately, like many of my classmates and associates who can be defeated with fists and clever wordplay, gravity cannot. Gravity can never be defeated, not even with a doctorate in advanced physics and city-sized particle accelerators that hadn't even been remotely finished yet. This made me considerably less than happy. I wanted to punch the earth for what it had done to me. To my precious lunch.

"You okay?" Russel asked, a little ridiculously.

"Dude, shut up." Emerald smacked him on the back of the head. "Don't… don't say anything."

"Ow, what the hell?"

"Shut. Up. She's in mourning. Can't you see she's lost her lunch?"

It wasn't just my lunch. It was my day's redemption. It was the shining light at the end of the sewer tunnel that was the shitty horribleness of my life. I was done. Done, I tell you. Nothing could possibly make it worse. Nothing.

"I mean… she can have some of mine."

"Russ, you don't have anything she'd want, don't engage her. She'll probably kill you."

I probably would have.

"C'mon, I'm trying to be nice. Back off."

"No, you back off. I'm trying to save your life."

"Weiss, do you want anything from my lunchbox?"

As he tried to show me the inside of his lunch, Em smacked it away, across the table and away from me. I closed my eyes and exhaled a long, slow breath.

"Dude!"

I appreciated his offer, I really did. I would have probably taken something small from him if it wasn't all strewn across the table in the other direction. I don't know what was up Emmy's ass today, but apparently it was painful. Although whether that was because she had a bad weekend or because the plastic brace in her hijab was digging into her face again wasn't really a problem. I mean, they _made_ more comfortable braces made of spandex and silk, and I had shown her a place downtown that sold them pretty cheap, but she was intent on making it difficult for herself.

"After all I've done for you this week."

"Just don't make any sudden movements. We all know what she's capable of."

She was right. I was very nearly close to gouging eyes. I even had my fork still in my hand. Emmy was right to take precautions, I was a loose cannon.

And then Jaune came in.

"Hey guys, what's going o—oh damn."

Oh damn was right.

"Well that sucks."

"You _think?"_ I seethed back at him. My patience was thin enough to be used for the Geiger-Marsden experiment.

"It does. I know how good that stuff is."

"It's not just that." I whispered, closing my eyes. "I'm not… I'm not having a good day."

Anyone else at this moment would have had their wrist broken and their teeth mashed in, but not Jaune. He put his hand gently on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"Hey, don't even worry about it." he said with a chuckle. "I have a solution."

"I don't see how you could."

"Come with me." he stood from his chair and grabbed my hand. If I was any less furious, I might have blushed. I stood up as well, letting him guide me around my mess on the floor. "You two, too. C'mon."

We left the reasonably empty classroom. Lucky for us, the teacher wasn't back yet so we were free to come and go as we pleased. So we went, as it pleased at least one of us. The hallway was still rife with other students milling around and getting their own lunches from their lockers and gossiping. We were receiving a few weird glares from the other students since Jaune was technically holding my hand as we walked through the long hallway to the far off land that was his lonely locker. No, seriously, his locker was inconveniently on the other end of the school building from the rest of our class for some stupid reason that no one wanted to give us.

"Here, wait just a moment."

I did as I was instructed as he fiddled with his lock. I knew his combo, as it was conveniently an easy one. Twenty-one, thirty-three, twenty. Dudley locks were notoriously unreliable and would break their tumblers _so_ easily that they should have been reclassified as _permanent_ locks instead of removable combo locks. The key to unlocking a Dudley lock was and always will be a set of bolt cutters. But somehow Jaune's lock always worked without fail. I think he kept the stupid thing through university even. How, I don't know. I bet he sold his soul to a mystic in exchange for an indestructible lock. Would explain a few other things about him as well.

"Take this," he said, shoving his other lunchbox into my arms. "I want you to have this."

I nearly stumbled backwards. With a careful movement of my still-shaking hands, I unzipped his lunchbox and looked inside. I pulled out the blue plastic container down at the bottom and popped the lid. A whole Montreal-Style smoked meat sandwich stared back up at me, and I was almost punched in the nose by the smell of mustard and rye.

"Wait, why do you have a second lunch, Jaune?" Emmy asked, leaning over my shoulder and resting her chin in the crook of my neck. It would have been ticklish if I wasn't so upset.

"Second recess, second lunch. I get hungry more than once a day." he answered with a shrug. "And my mom always packs two lunches because she thinks I'm in danger of getting mugged for my first lunch."

I re-lidded the 'wich and put it back in the bag, pulling out the other little box. Down with his ice pack in the bottom of the bag was a box of apple juice, but I was more interested in this little green square plastic container. Because inside was the actual gateway to heaven. One of Ines' famous chuncky chocolate brownies. My heart skipped.

"Aaaand I'll be taking this." Emmy said, lifting it out of my fingers.

"No, you will not be." Russ finished, snagging it back and putting it back in my hands. The two moves happened so quickly I didn't even have time to register them. But now I had the brownie back and all was good in the world.

"Th-thank you, Jaune." I said, looking up at him innocently. "This is too much."

"Mom thinks I need extra food, and now I think you need it more than me. It's nothing, really."

"Ugh, just get married already." Emmy rubbed my hair. I stuck my tongue out at her and frowned.

"Never. Just because you want it."

We found a staircase to hide in to eat. Well, less 'hide in' and more 'get out of the way in', since elementary school hallways and staircases are extra wide so that any for of delinquency can be seen from all angles. So we were stood out of the way in the stairs just around the corner from Jaune's locker, and I was finally able to enjoy some lunch. I bit into the sandwich.

"Mmmff. Muh god." I managed out through a mouthful of mustard. This is why I trust Jaune and Jaune only to make roast beef and smoked meat sandwiches. He's like, Jewish Mafia-levels of skilled with the mustard and rye. Maybe once I had a sandwich this good at a restaurant, but I remember having to bow to the Don and it was like, thirty bucks for just the sandwich. No fries, no drink.

"Well I'm glad you like it."

"Can I have a bite?" Russ asked, smiling. He was amused by how pleased I must've looked. I frowned at him, chewing, and holding the sandwich the other direction.

"Mno."

"Awe, c'mon. It looks good."

"Kiff my aff."

Emmy snorted through her juice box. I finished one half of my sandwich in maybe three bites total. And god _damn_ it was excellent.

"Ugh, I need more of this."

"You have another half, silly." Jaune chimed, grinning at me with his hands in his pockets. I rolled my eyes.

"No, I need another five of six sandwiches. I could live entirely on this."

I shoved the next piece in my mouth while the three of them laughed at me. They could bite me, this was my life now.

"Hey, you guys wanna see something cool?" Emmy asked, poking _me_ in the ribs for some reason.

"Yeah, of course." Jaune said, nodding and eating his cold spaghetti.

She looked around nervously, peering down the long hallway. "Kay, let me know if you see any of my cousins around, they'll tell on me if they see this."

"We've got sharp eyes." I said through the smoked meat.

"You wear glasses, I don't trust yours."

"Affhap."

"We've got you covered." Russ finished, poking me in the cheek.

With a flourish, she brought her hands up to her face, and hooked her fingers inside the ridges of her hijab and pulled it back and let it fall down her back like a hood. As soon as it did, both Jaune and Russ dropped their eyes to the floor and looked away. I, on the other hand, stared awestruck.

"...Your hair..."

"Yep. Hey, you guys can look, it's fine."

"It's so _green_." I gushed, wanting to reach out and touch the beautiful silky-smooth curtains that surrounded her face. "How did you get it such a perfect colour?"

"Russel helped me, and by the way, is allowed to look." She said, kicking him in the feet.

"It's not allowed."

"You were the one who rubbed the dye in! You sat in the bathroom with me and did this!"

"It's not allowed. We're respecting your privacy."

"Ugh, you two are so stupid. Jaune, look at my sweet-ass hair." She demanded.

"You're sure?" he asked, timidly.

"This is an act of rebellion, _yes,_ that's the point. I'm not allowed to dye my hair says my dad, so I compromised and dyed my hair."

"Can you do that?"

"I can do whatever I want. Now look at the locks. Besides, the rule is that I have to be modest except when in the presence of my family."

"But we're not-" Jaune started.

"Oh, yes you are, shut your loser hole."

Jaune chuckled and returned his gaze back upward. I watched his eyes take in the majesty that was the beautifully cropped and dyed green 'do.

"Oh my, the green really suits you."

"Doesn't it, though? Russ's a magician with the Clairol."

"What can I say, I've got taste," he reached over and rubbed _my_ hair. "I could touch up yours and get all the whites more uniform if you like?"

"Nah, it's cool. I like my hair the way it is. It's unique."

Emmy laughed and shook out her hair. "So's mine. I'm never changing this."

I went to laugh as well.

But I was suddenly unable. My laugh caught in my throat. Somehow, my friends were suddenly accelerating away from me with a force. And the back of my head was suddenly overwhelmed with pain. Not nearly as bad as I had experienced when I broke my leg, but darn close. I think it was the surprise of it, really. I shrieked as my body went horizontal.

"Wha-!"

Then the back of my head hit the floor. I bounced, curling up and grabbing the back of my head. _Oh my fucking god_ did it hurt. It felt like my skull was on fire. I'd bumped my head plenty of times before falling off play structures and rocks and stuff, but this was different. It felt deliberate. Like I'd been pulled. By my hair.

" _Ughhhhhh fuck!"_ I yelled, curling up on the floor and writhing in pain. I rolled over onto my back and tried to look up at whoever or whatever had done this to me, but my vision was a little hazy from the impact. Did you know the vision centre of the brain is at the back? I figured it would be like, right behind the eyes for easier internal nervous wiring or whatever, but no it's stuck way at the back. That's why you can go blind if you get hit too hard in the back of the skull.

Some things were starting to get clear again through the ringing of my head. My friends were kneeling around me, Emerald's long, beautiful green hair had been tucked away out of sight again in what looked like a hurry, Russ and Jaune had their attentions and two _very_ angry glares pointed in another direction.

"Nnnnghh..."

I turned my head to look over as well. And that's when I saw _him._ I bared my teeth, seething.

I am always right. Sixth graders are the worst. Excuse the fact that I was one at the time of the incident, of course. But _this,_ this was no regular sixth grader. This was one of the top of the line bullies. And you know what? I don't know if it was a built-in sensory protection of some kind, like some way to wipe this memory from my head, but I cannot for the life of me remember his name. I know that the guy he hung out with , currently leaned against the wall and snickering was named Kyle, but this guy? No clue. For the sake of the story I'm going to call him Dummy.

I'd been pulled to the floor. By my hair.

"What the _fuck_ is your problem?!" I demanded, trying to not tear up.

"Oh, what's the matter, grandma?" he taunted hopping backwards conveniently out of arms reach. "You gonna call Life Alert? Can't get up?"

How fucking dare.

"You pulled my hair!"

"It's falling out anyways, you old hag!"

Emmy helped me to my feet as I cradled my head with one hand, tears streaming down my cheeks. I'd tried to keep them back, but not succeeded. I think the reason Jaune or Russ hadn't immediately knocked Dummy's teeth down his throat was the sheer shock and awe of watching him yank me down by my hair.

I was proud of my hair. Damn proud. The stark white colouration gave me a beautiful contrast to Emmy's formerly dark brown, my sister's mixed brown and Jaune's yellow blonde. I didn't just look like every other kid and that was normally okay. Most of my classmates thought the white locks were a cool look since literally no other student looked the way I did. But Dummy saw it as a way to bring me down, since his logic was that only old people had white hair and therefore I was old and weak. Frail, even. If this was the way he treated _his_ grandmother, he was going to grow up to be a serial killer or something.

He would _always_ tease me about my hair. My eyebrows. The pale, patchy skin on my palms. Because I was visually different. Hey, at least he was picking on another white person. I'd have had to kill him if it was Emmy he was picking on for being a different colour. I could generally tolerate my hair being picked on. But not today. Today, he'd taken it physical. That was so not fucking alright.

"You gigantic _asshole!"_ I yelled. I think at this point a teacher _must've_ heard.

"Whatever, lady. Just don't fall over again. You might break your hip!"

He laughed and turned away, walking lazily down the hallway. None of us had moved yet. My heart was racing. My head was pounding. My breathing had become erratic. I wanted to do something drastic, and I wanted to do it _now._ So I did. I pushed out of Em's grip.

"Hey!" I yelled.

I marched down the hall after him.

" _HEY!"_

He turned to look over his shoulder, but didn't stop walking. I broke into a run.

" _DUMMY!"_

He stopped and turned around. That was his mistake. I planted my foot against the wall and jumped up and towards him. My fist came around.

No one ever prepares you for how much punching someone actually hurts. You always forget to factor in the fact that whatever force you put into hitting someone, the same amount of force is sent back through your hand and into your body. As described by Newton's third law of motion, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. If you hit an object with a thousand newtons of force, one thousand newtons is also forced back down your hand.

Muhammad Ali was a big guy. A big, agile boxer who could throw a serious punch. Most often resulting in a knockout. The punches he could throw ranged between three and five _thousand_ newtons of force, pretty much taking his opponents down without any more. He could do this because he could throw a fast one and create a huge _impulse_ force, which is actually where the force of a shot comes from. It's a factor of weight and acceleration. If you have low weight, you better have high acceleration to have the same impulse as someone with a high weight and low acceleration.

But I had used my limited knowledge of physics that day to increase my chances of creating a high impulse. By using the wall, I was able to impart some of the force of gravity into my hit as I punched _down_ and across, and likely put something in the range of fifteen hundred newtons of force directly into Dummy's cheekbone. And also right back up my arm, which stung like wildfire as all the little bones of my hand mashed together.

Seriously, I'd have kept swinging if not for Russel and Jaune jumping in at this point and grabbing me by the arms and pulling me away backwards. I know, I said some things to him I shouldn't have, but I was angry. Really goddamn angry, and I think it was reasonably justified. Even Emmy flipped him off as I was dragged away from him sitting there on the floor, clutching his face and sobbing like an infant.

Jackass.

/…/

"Okay..." She rubbed her eyes quite thoroughly. "Just… one more time. From the top."

"Mrs. Schnee, the reason you've-"

"Miss. I'm not married."

"...Right, Miss, the reason you've been called here today is because Weiss here attacked another student."

Winter sighed into her hands.

"And why do you think..." she looked up at Vice Principal McMaster and leaned back in her chair. "...she'd have done that? Just so all of our stories align."

I was trying my hardest to crush my hands between my thighs. My whole body was folded down on itself. I _really_ didn't want to be here.

"She was being teased. And she's been told multiple times that we _never_ resort to violence when people are picking on us. Plain and simple. She broke the rules."

Winter's face contorted into a confused, angry expression.

"See… funny thing," she sniffled and crossed her left leg over her right and crossed her arms. "Not exactly the story I have from her. See, what _I'm_ getting… is that she was being bullied. Repeatedly. For months. And now, when she tries to show that she no longer appreciates this kind of treatment, _she_ gets punished."

"...She punched the other student to the ground."

"Why?"

"He was teasing her."

" _Why!"_ Winter barked. The Vice Principal visibly shrunk a little.

"I… I don't..."

"Because of her _hair!_ Because of the unnaturally white hair she has had since she was born. He consistently calls her 'old' and 'frail', and has made her stay here miserable for the last year. Look, the reason she looks different is because of a hereditary condition called _Poliosis,_ which is a symptom of a skin disease called Vitiligo, _which we all have_ in this family."

She tilted her head down and pulled her hair out of the way to show off the patchy, pale skin she had around the back of her ears and the back of her neck. She righted, pulling up her sleeves and showing off the undersides of her arms, which were also a vividly depigmented pale white.

"See? We're _all_ like this. I just dye _all_ my hair white so it matches my sister, who has the full white hair going on anyways so she doesn't feel so alone. The lack of melanin should be no reason to bully someone, yet here we are!"

"I-I don't think that's why-"

"Really?" she bit into him. "Then I think you outta have a word with three key witnesses of the so-called attack, namely Jaune Arc, Emerald Sustrai, and Russel Thrush, since they were on scene for pretty much _every_ instance of the bullying throughout the year."

She reached into her coat and pulled out her day planner. I wanted to disappear.

"For instance! September fourteenth, called her 'grandma' in the hallway between classes, and the teacher said 'just ignore him, sweetie'. October twenty-first, pushed passed and called 'slow moving old lady', and the teacher, once again, said 'just ignore him, sweetie'. God, one response for everything, huh?"

"Mrs. Schnee, that's not-"

" _MISS!"_ even I recoiled a little from that one. "January eighteenth, asked if she needed help crossing the street, then had the books knocked from her hands. Once again, 'just ignore him'. Starting to see a _pattern, yet?!"_

"Ma'am-"

"And today! She isn't just verbally harassed for the thousandth time, she's physically assaulted by this boy, who drags her to the _goddamn_ ground by her _hair!_ And proceeds to _continue_ to bully her. You know, I'd say she was one hundred percent justified."

"She knows under no circumstances do we resort to violence-"

"Under _no_ circumstances, eh? Then explain this to me. After numerous times of calling the school _myself_ to demand an explanation to my sister's bullying, and every time receiving the same 'we have no record of these instances you speak of, if your child had gone to their teacher' yada yada and all that, I'm beginning to think you don't even care about your student."

"Excuse me?"

"Because having no record when every single time she'd gone to a teacher means that you're deliberately sweeping this shit under the rug!"

"We wouldn't do anything like that, don't be ridiculous."

"Then am I to believe she's been lying to me for a year? Is that it?!"

"This is a matter of simple teasing, ma'am. There's nothing we can really do to the contrary. Boys will be boys, and she needs to learn to deal with that."

Winter's voice caught in her throat. Her hands gripped down on the edges of her seat. I could _hear_ the metal creaking under the strain of her hands.

"You… did not… just say that… to me…"

Winter stood up slowly. The principal shrunk even further into himself. My sister cut a _very_ intimidating figure, being six-foot-three and built like a tank from five years of rugby. She breathed in an out a few times, probably to steady herself.

"Boys… will be boys?"

"It's just teasing. She attacked him."

"I'll be going to the police if you do not take that back. Weiss has been bullied for a year, and now it's gotten physical and you're turning a blind eye and that's. Not. Okay."

I shivered. I had never been so scared in my life. She'd stopped yelling, and now she was even more frightening.

"Your little game of having her suspended in the last month of school is fucking bullshit. If you do not rescind this decision, I'll be going to the police with the evidence of your neglect. Do you understand me."

"Y-yes, ma'am."

The air around her seemed to crackle.

"Good. C'mon, Weiss. We're going to get ice cream. You deserve it."

"O-okay." I said, shivering.

"If violence is the only answer you people understand, then so be it. We're leaving for today. You can think about your actions. My lawyer will be in touch."

She grabbed hold of my hand and pulled me out of the room. I obediently followed. As soon as we were clear of the building's doors and back into the June air, Winter sighed deeply and slowed down. She sniffed as she came to a stop in front of me, turning around and kneeling down.

"I'm sorry, honey. I'm sorry you had to see that."

She brought her hand to the side of my face, caressing it softly. I was still trying not to cry, but at the same time trying not to laugh that she'd just torn a strip out of the Vice Principal.

"Let me have a look at ya." she carefully turned my head so she could look at the back of it. She tutted with disappointment. "man, he really did a number on you, huh. Your scalp's all red back here. Still hurt?"

"Yeah." I nodded, somberly. I sniffled again, wiping my nose on my sleeve. "Getting my hair pulled sucks."

She chuckled dryly. "Yeah, it does."

I was pulled into a hug.

"You did the right thing. I just wish you didn't have to."

"I know."

"Those teachers are corrupt. I can't believe they'd brush that off as 'teasing'. That's not fair to you."

"I know."

She shook her head, gently stroking the sore spot where my hair'd been nearly yanked from my head. It stung like a gigantic bee sting. Winter guessed that I might have a mild concussion from the fall, but I didn't feel it. I just felt a little woozy is all.

"Just next time, please don't hit people. I understand this was extraneous circumstances, but you really need to talk to more than just your teachers sometimes. This place sucks because they didn't take the effort to help you, but do you understand what I mean?"

"I think so."

"If you ever feel uncomfortable or like you're in danger, tell multiple people. If they don't want to help you, go to whoever _they_ answer to and complain. And if _they_ don't help you, keep going up until someone does. And yes, that might mean the police in some instances. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

She smiled as she let me out of the embrace, rubbing my cheek with her thumb.

"I don't like getting angry, but when someone hurts my baby sister, someone's gonna get hurt. Leave it to me next time, okay?"

I nodded vigorously. "Okay, Winter."

I got a smooch on my forehead. "I love you, kiddo. Alright, lets go get some ice cream. Where would you prefer?"

I shrugged. "Zak's?"

She laughed and stood up. Zak's was our favourite diner downtown. Best milkshakes in Ottawa, and you can hold me to that.

"Alright. Zak's it is."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

February 16th, 2001

"C'mon, get up." I said to the pile of scarf and grumbling that was layed out on the ice.

"I can't." it responded. "I've died."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic."

"Kiss my ass." it said as it struggled to roll over on the slippery surface.

"I figured you'd be good at this now," I said, squatting and maintaining perfect balance on my skates. "Seeing as we have this season in Canada called winter. You know, it happens for about six months of the year?"

"Yeah, and you know what we _we_ don't have in Iran?" Emmy posed, forcing herself onto her knees.

I shrugged. "Sales tax?"

"Snow and Ice!" she yelled, falling over again. I laughed

"Here, let me help you."

"Don't fuckin' touch me!" she said as she latched on to my arm. "You're gonna make me fall!"

As carefully as I could, I lifted her back up until she could put one skate blade-side-down on the ice. Her ankle wobbled as she put weight on it, but I pulled her in closer to me so she had a more stable footing as her other skate touched the ice again. I don't know if the fact that she was wearing _my_ figure skates had anything to do with her falling on her face so many times, but it was beyond funny, so I didn't mind helping her up each time. I didn't actually figure skate for any competitions or whatever, I just thought they were pretty so I asked for a pair for Christmas, and lo and behold, there was a box of leather-booted, fur-lined figure skates under the tree addressed to me, love my sister.

"I want to go back to Iran."

"Mmm, why's that?"

"Because then I wouldn't have to _skate!"_ she exclaimed, teetering all over and wrapping her arms tighter around my torso as she tried not to fall down.

"Christ, Em, how long did it take you to learn how to _walk?"_

"The fuck does that have to do with this?!"

"Just balance!" I said, now trying to keep _myself_ from falling over. "And stop squeezing me so hard!"

"No!" she squeezed tighter. "If I let go, I'll fall!"

"Ugh, damnit, _Russel!"_ I yelled, grabbing him and Jaune's attention on the other side of the little seating area.

"What?!" he yelled back, spreading his arms dramatically. "Whachou want?"

"Take this!" I said, holding out my controller. "I can't skate and drive _and_ hold Loser up at the same time!"

"Fuck off, Weiss." Em squeezed into me.

Russel skated over to me, skidding to a stop and showering our legs with snow. Russ was a competent skater, and an even better hockey player. He'd recently joined a league at the Sportsplex, playing centre ice and wearing the number fourteen.

"Take it." I placed the pistol-grip controller into his hands. "Be nice to him, he's brand new."

"I'm always nice."

He skated backwards and away, grabbing the trigger of the controller as he did. The little red radio control car followed him across the ice back over to Jaune, who had my _other_ radio control car with him. I'd gotten the little car, a tenth-scale Lancia 037, for my birthday a couple of days ago and spent literally twelve straight hours building it from the box of parts. It was significantly more complicated but similarly as Japanese as that the little blue truck I'd gotten for my birthday a few years ago, having all independent suspension, fluid-filled dampers and complicated shaft-driven four-wheel-drive. I didn't take any breaks building this one, since I _really_ wanted to play with it. I even bothered to get a portable space heater out so I could paint the clear polycarbonate body shell in the cold.

Now, I'm aware that the 037 is not four-wheel-drive in real life, but the scale version would be pretty much undrivable if it was only rear-wheel-drive like the monster truck. Because with the extra-speedy electric motor and brand-new metal-hydride batteries, the little car could rocket along the road at close to _forty_ kilometres per hour. It became a _rosso corsa_ red blur as it whipped around.

But on ice? Nah, it was just fast enough to keep up with us skating.

"Kay, are you balanced?"

"No!"

"Alright, hold on, you're gonna let me go, okay?"

" _NO!"_

"It's not feasible to skate like this."

" _DON'T CARE!"_

I lamented.

"How 'bout you just hold my hand, okay?"

"Ew, no, that's gay." she said, her mitten-covered hand finding mine and vicing down on it. I chuckled, trying to wiggle myself out of her still whole-body grasp.

"Okay, you upright?" she shook her head at my question. I rolled my eyes. "Yes you are, dumbass, now straighten your back."

"I'm gonna fall on my ass then."

"Don't see how that would hurt, with all the extra padding." I jabbed, playfully smacking her butt with a _poof_ of her thick pink snowpants.

"I will kill you in your sleep."

I laughed as she wobbled on her skates, her hand getting uncomfortably tight on mine. I started to glide forward, half guiding and half pulling her along as she struggled to keep her balance.

"Jesus, how uncoordinated are you?"

"This is _not_ natural. God gave us feet so we could _walk,_ not strap knives to."

"Thought you didn't believe."

"I'll believe what I have to when I'm about to die in your a- _aarrgh!"_

Emerald went down. Her skates just sort of left the ice and left her at the mercy of my favourite force in the universe. Gravity.

" _Fuck!"_

She hit the ice with a muffled _whud,_ her snowpants mercifully absorbing enough of the impact so she didn't start to cry, again, and she slid to a very ungraceful stop at my feet. Although, not before trying to pull me down with her. I had to spread my skates apart for extra stability as I suddenly had to hold all ninety-nine pounds of Loser up off the ice with only one hand. I barely managed to react in time. A second slower, and I would have become the top of a very painful and unappetizing ice-and-Loser sandwich. But I never let go of her hand. And I think that's why she escaped without a concussion, as me holding her arm taut stopped her shoulders and skull from kissing the frozen surface.

"Holy hell, you're heavy!" I said, trying to not be pulled down.

"Fuck you, I'm exactly how heavy I'm supposed to be." she said, groaning and rolling over. "Excuse _me_ for growing all at once instead of gradually like you. We can't _all_ be perfect."

"I'm glad you think I'm perfect." I smiled.

"I was being sarcastic, asshat."

"I know."

She got on to her knees and sat upright. With my help, we got her back onto her feet and off the ice. I even bothered to brush her knees off for her so she wouldn't have cold wet spots. Such I nice friend I am, having to put up with her foul language.

"Give me real instruction this time, don't just yell ' _balance, you're a loser!'_ at me, okay?"

"Alright, for you I will."

" _Thank you."_ She said with a sarcastic intonation. I resisted the urge to smack the back of her head, since that would probably have made her fall, and since she was still glued to my hand, I'd have gone down with her.

"Okay, all skates have a balance point. Almost in the middle of the blade. On figure skates it's a little more pronounced, since that's where you have to spin from. Just try rocking your ankles a little, and you'll see what I mean."

She followed my advice, moving her feet. "L-Like this?"

"Yeah, you feel where the skates rock? Just behind the palm of your foot? Right around the arch?"

"I guess so?" she wavered, trying to crush my hand.

"Kay, stay on that point, but don't try to focus on it. You'll fall."

"The hell am I supposed to focus on, then?!"

I pushed forward and spun around so I was facing her on the ice, still with her hand in mine. I reached out with my left and captured her right hand and brought both her arms up in between us.

"Me, focus on me. Look at my beautiful face."

"Pfft, that's debatable."

"I _will_ trip you, Emerald. I'm trying to help you and you sling such insults."

"It's haram for girls to compliment each other."

I did my best 'big sister' face, the same one Winter was so famous for.

"No, it isn't, loser, people can compliment each other as much as they want!" I looked over at the boys. "Jaune!"

He looked up from watching the little blue monster truck do donuts on the ice. "Yeah?!"

"Is Emmy cute?!" I yelled. I could feel her clamp down on my hands.

"Yeah, I guess." he said, shrugging.

I looked back to Em. "See? It's fine?"

"As gross as that was, that wasn't my point." she stuck her tongue out at Jaune.

I caught her drift. "Hey Russ!"

He too, looked up from the radio control nonsense they were making.

"What?!"

"Is _Jaune_ cute?!"

"Hella cute!"

"See?" I said, looking back at Em, who had turned beet red. "It's all fine!"

"Thought you were teaching me to skate, not embarrassing me in public."

"I can do both." I lifted one foot as the little red Lancia slid by. "I'm multi-faceted. Now _look at me."_

She did. But not without visible protest.

"Fine, now what?"

I smiled. "Hold on, and don't lean."

I pushed off with my right foot, gliding backwards and pulling my dear idiot along with me. She was not pleased by the sudden movements, her arms flexing as she tried to do exactly what I told her not to. Another push on the ice made her back straighten, though. I kept my eyes locked with hers so she wouldn't be tempted to look down at her feet. That's how you fall, see, distracting yourself from where you're going. It's the same trick with walking on a tightrope or balance beam. You don't look at what you're standing on, you look where you're going. So I was making sure that Emmy would stay going towards me. Instead of towards the ice. Again.

"Come on, you're getting it." I said, despite her legs not having unlocked yet. "Just look at me."

"We're gonna fall!"

"No, we're not! Look at me!"

"But you can't see where you're going!"

I was getting entranced by her very intense gaze. Man, her eyes were pretty. Such long, luscious eyelashes for someone who didn't wear mascara yet.

"Doesn't matter, if we fall, you'll land in my arms. I'll catch you."

"That's still gay!"

We'd moved away from the boys at this point, leaving them in the centre of the big open ice rink that was Dow's Lake. I'd moved us towards the main canal, intent on dragging her all the way to Chateau Laurier skating backwards, if I had to. They'd seen us go, and quickly caught up with the two RC cars in tow. The old monster truck had surprising traction on the slippery surface, despite only being rear-wheel-drive. The little Lancia, however, shot past us like it was on dry pavement.

"Where do you two think you're going?" Russel questioned, sliding stop next to me before matching my slow pace.

"Right to the end?" I responded, without breaking Emerald's gaze. "Then we'll have some Beavertails."

"Oh, I think we're gonna need the 'Tails before that, Weiss." Jaune said, pulling up on my other side. "If this is your top speed."

"Get fucked, Jaune." Emmy looked at him with fire in her eyes. This was her mistake. "Get fu- _aack!"_

She tripped, stumbling forward. I tried to skid to a backwards stop to catch her, but her skates grabbed traction as she flailed and _bowled_ forward, slamming into me and pulling us both to the ground. I landed on my back, making my best effort to pull Em into my arms so she wouldn't break anything. I was successful in keeping her safe as she landed on top of me, her arms around my back and mine around hers. We slid to a very compromising stop. She was, well there's no other way to put it, between my legs. It took her a few fumbling moments to realize what she'd done.

"Hey, there." I smirked at her as she shook out her surprise. "Come here often?"

She sputtered a response, her face _glowing_ red. She reached up and grabbed my toque and yanked it down over my eyes, scrambling like a greased weasel to get off of me. I squeezed my legs to keep her in place just for a few extra moments, knowing exactly how angry it was making her. It was _hilarious._ Well, to me and the boys. Not to Emerald.

" _Fuck! Let me go!"_ she slid back on the ice on her butt. "I didn't mean to do that and _you know it!"_

She was making a scene. Jaune and Russel were beside themselves laughing, to the point where it looked like they were both in considerable, actual pain. Russel had stopped breathing, clutching his chest with tears streaming down his face, contorted into what was going to surely become a permanent smile. Jaune had fallen to his knees and had to support himself off the ice.

"You sure?" I taunted, wiggling my eyebrows at her. "I mean, you could at least buy me dinner first."

A load of snow hit me square in the face.

"Shut up!"

"Ahh!" I was shocked. "How dare you!"

The audacity of this one. I made the effort to catch her and protect her and she throws snow at my face? This wouldn't do. I twisted my hips and planted my skates back on the ice, pushing myself easily to the snowbank that lined the edge of the canal. I reached down, and loaded up a cunning retort.

"Take this!" I tossed the snowball at her, still on the ice. I missed. "Oh, shit!"

I hit Jaune instead, who couldn't exactly see it coming as he was now on his hands and knees trying to regain his breath. So a snowball to the side of the dome only made it worse, as he fell over and burst out again. I don't know how Russ was still standing through his tears. That boy had knees of steel.

"Sorry!" I managed out through my own whooping laughter.

"Fuck you guys." Emmy pouted, crossing her arms. "I wanna go _home!"_

I glided back over, and knelt down in front of her. She pouted harder and looked away. I had to wipe the snow and tears from my eyes, having fair difficulty not continuing to laugh at any one of them.

"C'mon, Em. Get up." I put my hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off. I did it again, only harder. "Sorry for laughing so hard and embarrassing you. I'll buy you hot chocolate."

She sniffled, more for effect than for purpose. "You will?"

"I will."

Her pout started to disappear as I picked her back up.

"You'd better."

"I will!"

It took me a moment to get her skateside-down for what must have been the fifth of sixth time in the last ten minutes. She was the least coordinated individual I had ever met when it came to balance. I mean, for darn's sake, I'd watched her scramble up trees without even breaking a sweat, she could do crazy acrobatics and flips off the dock at Jaune's cottage, and was so far the only one of us to ride her bicycle without holding the handlebars. Not that I wasn't _trying_ to learn that. But on skates she was like a newborn fawn, who's leg muscles hadn't developed yet.

"Alright," I said, once she was finally standing up straight. "I won't make you skate, we'll just pull you along the ice. All you have to do is stand still."

"Uh huh."

Jaune skated around to her left side, and I took up her right. I grabbed her by the mitten, keeping her hand in a firm but assuring grip.

"Can you do that?"

"I think so. How far do we have to go?"

I shrugged. "I dunno, it's like, fifteen kilometres."

"Oh, fuck." she sighed. "Okay, I guess."

"Good. Jaune, grab her hand."

Before he could even reach out, she yelped and yanked her left hand away from him. "Ew, no!"

"Emerald Sustrai," I said, rolling my eyes at her. "Number one, he's wearing gloves, and number two, the cooties epidemic ended in nine-eight. Grow up. Hold his fuckin' hand."

I didn't swear often, so when I did, people listened. Emmy shrunk, and with a _lot_ of reluctance, reached out and let Jaune grab her by the left mitten. She made a face. A very pouty face.

"Fine."

"Shall we, then?" I went to move forward.

"Woah, wait." Jaune said, holding us back. "What do I do with this?"

He held up the radio for the monster truck. I looked down at the truck, then up at his radio.

"I dunno, tow it behind the Lancia, or carry it. We have more important cargo to worry about here."

"I'm not _cargo!"_

"Well, today you are."

"Ughhh!"

She wasn't having it, but I didn't care and neither did Jaune, who reached down and picked up the little monster truck by its push bar, slipping the radio into his pocket and gently retracting the fishing-pole sized antenna.

"Right. Let's go. Jaune, where's your dad?"

"Pfft, I dunno. I left him in the chalet. Probably still getting his skates on."

Then, like magic as most things in my life were, he appeared behind us, scaring Emmy damn near right out of her skin.

"You kids ready to go?"

"We're not kids anymore, Mr. Arc!" Russel said, making an amused face at Emerald's expense.

Jaune's dad laughed. "You kids may be older, sure, but you ain't adults yet. Come back when you've got a mortgage and eight children."

"Ha!" Russ exclaimed, clapping Jaune on the back. "That isn't gonna happen for me any time soon."

"And please, call me Francois. You don't have to keep calling me Mr. Arc, Russel my boy."

"My mother raised me to say please and thank you, sir and ma'am, sir." he said, with the most polite tone he could muster.

Jaune's dad was a very large man, in both height and midsection. I think he was in his early sixties at this point, but I swear he never aged a day over forty-five. Greying hair, bushy, and I'm talking full wildman greying beard, but soft, young-enough face that he was never intimidating, even if he stood six-five and weighed in at twenty stone. Built like a strongman, though. Everything Jaune _didn't_ turn out to be, actually. Stayed thin his whole life. And his chuckle at Russel's little comment was as hearty as you'd expect it to be with a barrel-sized chest like his.

"Oh, my son, you're alright, eh? Let's get to skating, shall we?"

His accent was still strong, mind you, very clearly French, but he used quite a lot of Canadian slang and intonations, with a heavy French accent. He still said 'eh' and 'aboot', as if he was trying to assimilate himself by force instead of naturally. Jaune's accent had long ago gone away and been replaced with the more chunky one we all used here in The Great White North. Although, whenever I heard Jaune or either of his parents speak their native tongue, ugh, my god it was beautiful. Like the red wine of languages. Just enough bite to be interesting, perfectly smooth and absolutely perfect. Unlike Quebec french, which is the meat-grinder equivalent and what we were taught in school. Which Jaune was actually not doing so well in.

So we set off, with Jaune and I pulling Em by the hands as carefully as we could, Russel driving the Lancia along beside us and Jaune's dad bringing up the rear with the boot bag slung over his back. The ice was crisp today, perfect and sheer, like a pond rink. It was late in the day, even, when most normal people would be out skating the national skateway, but it was surprisingly sparse. Which was good, since last time Jaune and I came here with RC cars, we were yelled at by some lady _walking_ the ice that we were being unsafe and were going to hurt someone. Yeah, and she was _walking_ when everyone else was trying to skate around her. So who was really at fault there?

"I really hate skating." Emmy said, quietly and nervously. "This isn't fun."

"You aren't skating. You're panicking and we're pulling." I said, nudging her into Jaune. She squeaked like a rusty hinge in retaliation. "Besides, you wanted to come!"

"I though we were going to the Nature Museum!"

"And we did, didn't we eh?" Francois bellowed from behind us. "This is just a bit of exercise, kids!"

"Thirty kilometres round-trip is not _a bit_ of exercise!" She nervously called back, not daring to look over her shoulder and lose her balance. Though I'm certain we'd have had no problem keeping her upright.

"Hey, you're not even doing anything!" Jaune pointed out, making Emerald pout at him. "You're not exercising! We are!"

We'd picked up a little bit of speed, settling in to a normal comfortable pace along the ice, and with the two of us pulling, Emmy seemed quite light, actually. I mean I _was_ letting Jaune do most of the work with pulling, not because I was lazy, of course. I just figured he was stronger, so he could do more work. Be the man of this family.

"Oh, c'mon Em, admit it." I chided, cheerfully brushing into her. "You're having a _little_ bit of fun!"

"I refuse to comment at the risk of incriminating myself."

"Lighten up, silly. This is the Rideau Canal! How can you _not_ marvel at this engineering masterpiece!"

"Because it's cold and I'm in danger."

"What? No, you're not. There's like… ten inches of ice between us and the water." I looked over at Jaune, who mouthed ' _more like seven'_ at me. I sheepishly grinned back. "We're perfectly safe."

"I'm not worried about falling through, I'm worried about falling _down."_

"Honey, we're your anchor points. We won't let you hit the ground."

"Don't _honey_ me, Weiss!"

"Oh, I'm gonna _honey_ you for the rest of your life, now. You've trapped yourself."

"And you're gonna wake up with bees in your pillowcase tomorrow morning!"

I dramatically placed a hand to my chest. "You make it so hard to love you, Em."

"I don't want you to!"

Coming from the girl who would take every opportunity to cuddle when we watched movies at her house, and who's sleeping bag would mysteriously slide up next to mine whenever we had sleepovers.

"Somewhere, deep down, I think you do. I think you treasure our friendship, Emmy."

"I'm about to treasure a pair of scissors in your sternum."

And this is when Jaune, ever the mature adult among us, leaned his head around. "What's this about scissoring?"

Emmy let go of my hand and swung around to hit him.

And then fell over.

/…/

As we pulled back in to the subdivision, Francois made an effort to get the van as sideways as possible on the heavily snowed-over road, kicking the clutch in and revving the motor up to break the narrow snow tires free. We all, well except for Em, yelled and cheered our appreciation as he pitched the old van sideways, holding a rather dramatic drift as we re-entered the side street that Jaune lived on. I liked the old Previa, as it was one of many things to us all. It would be the car that all four of us learned to drive stick in, and being the only rear-wheel-drive _manual_ minivan ever made, would also be responsible for my early appreciation for driving.

But the van was more than just another Japanese oddity, it was still a van, and one of the few cars in our circle that could fit all of us. Emmy's parents' old Mercedes was only _really_ a two-seater, Russel's dad's Mazda was positively miniature, and yeah Winter's Catalina was certainly big enough, it drank gas like it was going out of style, so long trips were a no. But the Previa? We could make it almost to New Brunswick without having to get gas.

"Everyone holding on?" Francois asked, checking on all four of us bundled into the vans's rear two rows of seats through the rearview mirror.

Instead of an answer with words, we all just cheered non-descriptly. Except for Em. Who yelled _angrily._ Francois took everyone's opinion except hers, and started to rock the car back and forth in the snow, fishtailing into the oncoming lane of traffic, much to our amusement. I'm not sure if _this_ was the moment Emmy swore off driving forever, but I wouldn't be surprised.

Just before we reached his driveway, he cranked the wheel to the left, matted the clutch and yanked up on the parking brake. The van pitched fully sideways in the snow, sliding to a halt almost perfectly in line with Jaune's driveway. Three and a half whoops later, we were back in the driveway, the car sputtering out. I sprung for the door, sliding it back and out of the way, jumping out of the van and into the thick unshovelled snow of the driveway, my boots sinking in and snow finding its way into my socks. I wanted to yell but I kept quiet, out of respect for the neighbors. Jaune and Russel followed me out of the van, leaving just Em still in her seat in the very back of the van. I glanced back at her as the boys and Francois made it into the house through the garage.

"Hey, you coming?"

"Y-yeah. In a moment."

She looked a little green. More in the face than in the hair for once. "Carsick?"

"Uh huh."

"Oh. Sorry we encouraged him, Em."

She frowned, waving me off. "Nah, it's fine." she gingerly reached down to her buckle and clicked herself out of the seat, the belt slipping up and back against the wall of the van with a click of steel. Her legs were shaking as she moved down the bench and squeezed out from behind the middle seat, taking my hand and letting me help her down and out. "I'll be fine as soon as I get inside and have another hot cocoa in my hand."

"That's all it takes for you, huh?"

"What can I say? I'm a simple girl."

I steadied Loser and guided her inside, slamming the van door shut again and pulling her towards the warm of the house. There was _already_ a fire going in the family room, Jaune's mother and sister sitting in front of it. Before we'd had a chance, or rather _I'd_ had a chance to de-snowsuit us, Ines had sprung up from her spot on the couch and came fussing over, angrily cussing out her husband. In french, of course. And with my mediocre understanding, I got the gist of what she was saying.

" _You are so reckless, Francois, you need to be careful when there are children in the car, especially when they are not your own!"_

" _It's fine, my little cauliflower, we were having fun!"_

I twisted my face up at that, as did both Emmy and Jaune. Russ was blissfully unaware, as he was very poor with his languages other than english. Since Emmy and I used to attend international schools, we had some unfortunate understanding of French slang and pet names.

" _Don't you call me that, you villainous boy, you."_ she said with a playful slap on his arm. The three of us winced. See, she hadn't actually said 'villainous', but at the risk of speaking about Jaune's parents in a less-than-family friendly light, I'll use the literal translation.

" _I can show you later just how villainous I can get, love."_

All of Ines' ire with her husband vanished, and the short woman seemed to just melt in his arms.

" _You know, Weiss and Emmy both understand you, right?"_ Jaune said, recoiling so far into his coat he became one with it. " _And that you two are the grossest individuals in history."_

" _Oh, honey, hush."_ his mother said, pulling my scarf and toque off me in one movement. " _Did you forget that you're the youngest of eight, dear?"_

Ouch, full points to Ines. I watched Jaune shiver all the way down his body, nearly shaking himself out of his cardigan in disgust. Emmy had scrunched up her face and was doing her best 'I'm not here' expression as Russel was _still_ unaware of the situation.

"We're gonna head downstairs, now." Jaune said, grabbing Russel by the sleeve and kicking his boots into the tray. "We'll be up in a bit for supper."

"Okay, you kids have fun!" she said, as if the previous conversation hadn't occurred.

I pulled my coat off and hung it up over Em's on the coat rack, kicking off my snowpants and collecting Em's as well to stash neatly out of the way. We followed the boys into the basement, down the tight staircase into the comfortably semi-finished basement. I liked Jaune's basement. It was a nice place to be in my opinion. The exposed support bars and floor joists were a nice homey feeling, and the drywall only made it halfway around the mostly-open room. The nice thing about his basement was the completely carpeted floor, though. Since it never got as cold as the concrete floors in Russ's fully unfinished basement.

We all flopped down as one on the huge and very seventies yellow couch, which was wide enough for _seven_ people, so the four of us had plenty of real estate. Our bags, left here in the morning, greeted us like loyal pets at the foot of the couch.

"Ahh." I said, letting the warm cotton take me. "Much better. Jaune, your parents are weird."

"Tell me about it."

"At least Russel's parents somewhat get us."

Emmy chuckled, lolling her head back over the back of the couch. "That's because they're so young. They're hip enough to be square."

" _Wow_ that's a dated reference, Em." Russ said, _lounging_ his legs out in front of him. "And they're not that young, what are you talking about?"

"Russel, your parents are the same age as my _second_ oldest sister. And she just recently made me an uncle."

Russ crossed his arms and glared. "Hey. They're just fine the way they are."

"Russ's mad 'cause he was an accident." Emmy chided, bunting him in the shoulder with her foot.

"I was _not!"_ he pouted. "I think I was planned. Sure, they may have been in high school-"

"Junior high."

Russel glared forcefully at Emmy. "High school. And besides, they knew what they were getting into. What do you _think_ they were expecting? A unicorn?"

Jaune laughed. "I dunno, Russ, you're pretty special to me."

Russel's face went pretty red. Em laughed and kicked Russ in the shoulder again.

"Ugh, _gaaaay."_

"Sh-shut up!" he grabbed at her ankle and tried to shove her off the couch. She yelped as she landed on the foam mattress that was put between us and the television. "I'm not a unicorn!"

I reached over and patted him on the cheek. "Yeah, you are."

I dodged a pillow to the face that hit Jaune instead. This began a very heated and violent pillow fight, with all four of us swinging cushions off the loveseat at each others heads in an attempt to flatten. I would like to say I came out victorious, but that would be a gross understatement. I quickly found myself with Em's head locked under my arm, and I was wailing on her with one of the light blue pillows from Jaune's bed upstairs.

"Let me go!" she pleaded, trying to hit me with one of the seat cushions. "No fair!"

"Fair!" I yelled, smacking her and Jaune in quick succession as he tried to dive out of the way of a barrage of fluff from Russ. "Bow before me!"

"Aaargh!"

" _Vive La Revolution!"_ Jaune yelled, flying at Russel's head with two thick pillows in his arms.

The impact was impressive, sending both boys tumbling to the mattress, Jaune coming out on top with Russ's head firmly smothered in the two cushions. Taking inspiration from this, I let go of Emmy's neck and wrapped both of my arms around her tummy and let my knees drop out and rolled forward, bringing Em with me. I made sure I hit the mattress first and kept her hugged to me as I rotated over, Loser screaming the whole way. We landed on top of the boys, flattening Jaune into Russel and all of us into the edge of the mattress.

This was the end of the fight, seeing as I had quite literally come out on top.

" _I yield..."_ Russel breathed out, the air in his lungs squeezed out like a deflating balloon. " _I ye-heeeeild."_

"And the rest of you?!" I demanded, propping myself up on Em's back.

"We yield." they said in sync.

"Please get off, you're pushing into my sore spots."

I leaned down over her shoulder. "Oh, am I?"

"Yeah, right into Jaune's shoulder blades, please get off."

"Sounds a lot like your problem. Maybe if you weren't growing so fast..."

"I can't control it!"

I laughed, releasing pressure and stepping off the pile. Em groaned as she pushed off of Jaune, pushing him harder into Russ as she stood up. Russel wheezed again. I helped poor Loser up and we sat back down on the cushionless couch, watching the loose tangle of arms and legs that was the boys slowly uncouple themselves and scooch apart. Jaune coughed and brushed himself off, a chuckle on his face as he got up, cracking out his back. Russ was _very_ red in the face. But I noticed he wasn't angry.

"You guys ready to admit that I'm top dog?"

"Yes, you're the boss." Jaune said, reaching for his backpack for his jammies. I liked his obedience.

Emmy just rolled her eyes, but still smiled. "You're too rough, dummy."

"Hey, I'm just trying to show you that I love you."

"Pfft."

I was shocked. "You don't believe me?!"

"No." She poked me in the face.

"But…. I wrote a song for you!"

"You did _what?"_

"Yeah!" I got up from the couch, shuffling around to the far wall where, of all things, a piano sat. the old and dirty standup grand had been in the house when they moved in, and they never bothered to move it out of the basement since it weighed like, five hundred pounds. So in the basement it stayed, for now. I slid myself onto the seat sideways, flinging my feet onto the pedals and launching the key cover out of the way. Before anyone had any chance to make any objections, I riffed off a little pentatonic scale rhythm.

"Alright..." I started a little jumpy riff, in G major, banging out a chord progression similar but not identical to Toto's Hold The Line.

"~ _Emmy, you're my best friend...~"_ I began, pounding out a flourish in the upper. "~ _And I'll love you 'till the end...~"_

I walked the progression down into a minor.

"~ _And Emmy, with this decision I send...~"_ Another spirited riff, back up in the major. "~ _I'll just say I love you...~"_

I paused, winking over at her. She rolled her eyes and tried to roll herself off the couch. Jaune laughed and held her in place so she'd listen. I brought back the minor.

"~ _And one day, you'll say 'I do'...sinceI'mgonnamarryyouandItreasureourfriendship...~"_ I sped out, making the boys laugh. "~ _And I promise, that's true...~"_

I came back around to the G major. " _~Because Emmy… I...Love youuuuuuu."_ I slammed out a finale, finishing off with a smokin' hot scale set.

I paused, my fingers on the keys still, holding the last notes as they rung to silence in the basement. I turned, looking to my patient audience. Jaune and Russ seemed to be about four or five seconds away from bursting into laughter and rolling on the floor. Emmy, on the other hand, was quite the opposite, with her arms crossed angrily over her chest, her hood up and a legendary glare fixed on me. I blinked at her, mouthing ' _I love you'._ Her face twitched. A crack in her armour.

I played the ending arpeggio again, only quieter, and winked at her. The very edges of her mouth twitched slightly upwards. I wiggled my eyebrows at her, desperate to break her mood. She sighed, rolling her eyes at me, and lolling her head back and letting a big smile cross her face.

" _Ugh,_ alright fine, I love you too."

I cheered to myself, spinning around on the piano bench. " _Yes!"_

I got up and got back over to the couch, jumping over the back and landing right between Em and Jaune, who had somehow got his pyjamas on in the time it took me to play a three-line song on the piano. While remaining in the same room. Boy was good, let me tell ya.

"You two are so gay." Russ teased, poking us both.

"Shut up."

"Takes one to know one." I said, childishly. Russ stuck his tongue out at me.

" _You_ shut up."

We sat for a moment in happy silence, enjoying the heat of the room and the fluffiness of the big blanket Jaune had thrown over us. Russ sniffled, coughing, making me look back over at him. His extravagant and usually dyed hair wasn't today, all matted and faded from his toque. He seemed to be distracted by his own thoughts.

"What's up, buddy?"

He shook his head. "Nah, it's nothing."

"You can tell us."

"You're right, functionally I can, but I'm not gonna."

"Em, taze him."

He jumped backwards as Emmy turned, her fingers out and pointy. "Woah, no need to resort to violence, now."

"Get him!"

"Alright, fine!" he yielded, before Em could reach him. "Back off, and I'll tell you!"

Em retracted, settling down in her seat.

"Okay." I started, putting my arm around Em's shoulders to show I had her on retainer. "What did you wanna say?"

He sighed, looking away.

"I'm moving."

My heart, and judging by their reactions Emmy and Jaune's too, sank like a stone.

"What?"

"At the end of August. Mom found a new job, and since my dad works from home now, they said it's better if we move closer so she doesn't have to drive an hour and a half into Vanier."

"But… what about school?"

"Canterbury."

A weight lifted from my shoulders. "Oh, shit, I thought you were leaving Ottawa."

It took a second to sink into his brain that I wasn't upset. "Oh, f-, no I'm not leaving Ottawa, we're just moving slightly away. It just means I won't be attending SRB with you guys."

"Well, where are you going?"

"Like, Alta Vista. It's kinda far."

"Ah, that's not so bad. Winter won't mind driving us out there. Besides, that's like right near the Science museum, isn't it?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

I reached over and slapped him on the leg. "Well there you go, then. Something we can do as a crew out there. You'll always be one of us, Russ. No matter where you live."

He smiled. "Thanks, Weiss."

"And I'm sure your mom has no problem accommodating you and bringing you to see us as well."

"She did say she would."

"Well there you go, then. See, you're not really moving way. Just somewhere else. You'll still see us on weekends and holidays. Right, guys?"

"Right." Em said, with enough enthusiasm to qualify.

"That's right." Jaune reached over both of us and slapped Russ on the shoulder. His cheeks darkened.

"Thanks, guys."

"We're the best, right?"

"You're the best."

I grinned at him. "Yeah, I know. Now!" I clapped. "On a lighter note, who wants to watch movies and eat popcorn until we're sick!"

Three arms went up.

All was good again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

 _September 11_ _th_ _, 2001_

I remember the day the world changed.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

The day we all lost our precious innocence. The day we all realized that the world, and the people in it, were all genuinely disgusting. Before this day, we'd all been in the same mindset. That the world was a safe and caring place full of love and mutual appreciation for our fellow human beings. We were wrong. Even in the Great White North, a free country full of snow, maple syrup, and politeness, there were monsters. South of the border, in the States, more monsters. The other side of the oceans, places where people looked different to us, even more monsters. We couldn't do anything about them, either. We just had to sit back and take it.

For this was the day we discovered nowhere was safe. Where I couldn't protect my friends from bad people and from bad things that were happening. We'd lost. Our precious little kingdom was torn down on this day, invaded. Shown that we weren't even worth the clothes on our backs. Because we were different. Immigrants. Not so much myself and Jaune, but we were still singled out on occasion. It was on this day that the focus shifted from the two European 'rich' kids to the substantially less fortunate. The day it shifted to the Iranian. Emerald.

Because this was the day the towers fell.

I remember it so clearly. The day had barely started. The _school year_ had barely started. And we were left vulnerable. It was all of nine o'clock in the morning by the time we found out. We were in music class. I was sitting there, trumpet in hand, and we had the radio playing on Mr. Fernbank's desk to listen in to the broadcast. We were just kids, what did we know about the world? I remember the look of actually shaking concern on the teacher's face, staring off a thousand yards into the floor and leaning against the whiteboard, the end of a dry-erase marker in his teeth. I'd barely had time to get my mouthpiece in when he'd rushed into the room and flicked on the radio to CBC news.

The broadcast was shaky, and the broadcaster was equal parts nervous and confident, as if they'd been struggling to decipher if what was going on was real or not. I'd genuinely thought it was fake at first. An allegory, by the CBC story artists, famous for their ability to weave tales and songs. This one, the story of four hijacked planes _on the same day_ , was in every way completely unbelievable. Unfortunately for _everyone,_ this was no story. It was real life. And Reality is _always_ scarier than fiction.

But what I remember most is when, at just after a quarter to nine, the fateful words ' _and the plane has struck the North Tower'_ had made us all jump as the sound-compressed audio of the destructive and deafening roar of metal crashing and twisting as the fate of the world changed. I just closed my eyes and sat there, brass hanging loosely in my fingers, one foot propped up against the bottom of my stand and my other heel resting on a chair leg. I remember shivering, and just listening. The broadcaster had gone silent, and left us with only the noise of three thousand lives coming to an end through a tiny, insignificant speaker.

I only opened my eyes when the broadcaster started to gasp and yell again, to look over at Jaune, who sat in quiet contemplation, this sour and pained expression present in his whole body, his arms draped tightly over his bass. He was tense, coiled up like very agitated spring, listening. I envied his resolve at that moment, that he hadn't started to tear up and shake the way I had. He managed to keep his cool, even though the world was changing around us.

But it was only when I layed my eyes on Em that the gravity of the situation really set in. She was up at the front row, each half of her flute hung loosely in her fingers, threatening to fall out at any moment. I don't think she had any control of her body left. I think it had all left her at that moment. The most real and stomach-turning look of fear was plastered on her face. Wide eyed, open-mouthed. I watched her twitch, like she was being slowly and silently electrocuted. She made no movements. _I_ made no movements. _Nobody_ moved even an inch for the first hour of class, as we listened to the end of the world.

I watched Mr. Fernbank use every ounce of strength in the universe to turn around and press the power switch on his radio, cutting the feed and making the room into the single loudest silent room that there had ever been. We all could feel it. Some of us, specifically Emerald, could feel it more than others. I could hear how ragged her breathing had gotten. I wanted to get up and run over to her, but I couldn't. I was frozen in place. Frozen in place at exactly the wrong time. Frozen, at the very moment that one of the other students, a young fool who sat across from Em, slowly and quietly raised a hand to point at her. And I was frozen in place when he said the one word that changed us all. That turned precious, darling Emmy into a cynic. Into a scared, closeted little girl again. And made us all fear humanity.

"T...te...terrorist..."

That was it. That was the turning point. Everyone was evil. And now we knew it. I was in shock. I couldn't move. I wanted to. He'd only said one word. But it was enough. Enough to get his point across. I watched as Em's eyes flickered between him, the ground, and the phone her mom had given her, up on her music stand. She'd been told to keep it handy in case her mother needed to call her and let her know what was going on with her dad. God, I wish I could have reacted. I'd have had Emmy up and out of the school before the attack had even begun. But instead I sat. And watched.

Emmy was waiting for a call. A call that might change her entire life. Since early in the morning when the four planes had been hijacked, all flights across North America had been grounded, and all airspaces cleared. Cleared for what, I don't know and I wasn't about to ask. But the unfortunate thing about this was that it meant her dad was now stuck in Houston. He couldn't go anywhere. He couldn't fly _his_ plane.

Emerald's dad was a commercial pilot, you see. And a very good one. Before Em was born, he'd been one of the top aerobatics pilots in the Iranian Air Force, and a prominent flight instructor with thousands upon thousands of hours behind the controls of the SU-25 Grach. Probably the _only_ pilot to turn the fairly heavy and ungainly Russian aircraft supermaneuverable. After ten years of loyal service and countless promotions, he retired, got married, and settled down to become an airline pilot, most recently with Air Canada, operating out of our nation's capital. He was a damn good pilot and a damn good man.

So when we found out what had happened to him in Houston, it destroyed us all. Coming out of the bathroom, after changing into his uniform, he'd been apprehended. Like most Iranian men, and indeed most Muslim men, he wore a fairly simple prayer cap, his favourite being a blue knit one made by his wife. And on that day, that was what he was going to be wearing under his pilot's cap. His uniform, pressed and neatly lint-rolled, had just been put on. His tie, straightened by years of his wife's fussing, and his prayer cap, gently on his head like he would have done any other day of the week and before any other flight.

But coming out of that bathroom, unbeknownst to him, there was a world-altering amount of sorrow in store for him. Two men, feeling particularly patriotic, although that's merely a stand-in for xenophobic in this case, decided it would be right to place him under citizen's arrest. In typical Texas fashion.

He'd been beaten, thrown to the ground, kicked in the head. Kicked in the stomach. Had his prayer cap torn off and then torn up. The gentle man had been savagely attacked, and no self-respecting police officers, air marshals, or security guards stepped in to help. Quite the opposite in fact. _Several_ self- _dis_ respecting members of authority joined in. And handcuffs were applied. Three sets of them. To Em's dad. He was brutalized, had one of his arms broken, _seven_ of his ribs broken, and his jaw knocked out of alignment, giving him his trademark crooked smile. A good man, and innocent man, was attacked that day, just for looking vaguely middle-eastern in an airport.

To _thunderous_ applause.

So when I heard that other student utter those three fateful syllables, I wanted to snap. I wanted to scream and shout and hit him until his lungs stopped cycling and his heart stopped pumping. There existed too many monsters to count, and to reliably vanquish in my lifetime. For those monsters now consisted of the rest of the entire world. And I didn't want that. I just wanted to wrap poor Em in my arms and never let her out of my sight.

So when I heard Jaune's chair move, I was scared. I didn't have time to react as he stood up. As his bass fell from his lap and onto the floor, face-first. I remember the sound of the bridge crunching, and the saddle and pins snapping out as the four strings came flying out. I watched him step _on_ it as he crossed the room. I'd locked up. Emmy had locked up. But Jaune hadn't. And as he stepped through the three rows of chairs and cheap metal music stands, knocking everything out of his path, the poor fool never saw it coming.

To be fair, I never saw it coming either. Jaune was always so laid back and relaxed, I thought. Nothing ever bothered him. Not whenever Em or I would jump into his lap, smack him with stuff, or beat him at Super Smash did he ever react poorly. He just didn't. He didn't have an angry bone in his body. Or so I thought. As it turned out, quite a lot of stuff bothered him, and he had very few avenues to express it. So he'd taken up Taekwondo, like most of his fellow male classmates, and he'd been doing it for a surprisingly long time. Since fifth grade, without us knowing. I'm not disappointed that he didn't tell us. It's a pretty brutal sport for a child to be participating in. Maybe that was why we'd never been invited to his tournaments or his exhibitions. I think it was because he didn't want us to see him get violent with anyone, body padding or not.

But today I knew he'd had enough standing in the wings, just letting the play continue without him. Today he'd decided to do something. Someone had mad him angry, and they were about to understand that there were consequences related to that. Emerald was just an innocent child. So were the rest of us. But innocence only went so far. When someone broke that precious innocence, they would face retribution. Whether that would be at the hands of the school's disciplinary department or Jaune's was merely a matter of timing. Mr. Fernbank clearly wasn't in any state to do anything, and I don't think Jaune necessarily was either, but it was him who moved first. And when he did, we all had to bear witness.

And he grabbed the poor fool by his collar, and tossed him to the ground. And since he'd been in Taekwondo for the better part of four _years,_ he'd been taught how to throw a punch. In fact, he'd been taught how to _continue_ to throw them until either his opponent yielded or his own arm snapped. And with the look in his eyes, which was clearly completely hazed over, my bet was that he would continue even after his arm would break. It was at this point Jaune's innocence had left him. It was gone with the first hit. Square in the mouth. I think the fool had tried to cry out, but the next impact took away his ability to do so, as a punch right to the base of the ribcage generally did just that, taking his wind away and leaving him struggling for breath as another punch crossed the side of his face.

I don't remember how many times Jaune punched him, but I remember it being a lot. I remember looking helplessly to the teacher, who seemed to just be watching quietly from his spot on the edge of the room. I realized much later that what he was doing was _counting_ the hits, waiting for a moment when the number of punches equaled the appalling comment made in poor Emerald's direction. That way he could ensure that the fool could be justified in getting what he deserved and would need no more punishment, and Jaune would get off on 'self defense' punishments, which usually didn't extend further than a one or two day suspension.

I remember finally letting my voice out and standing up, and yelling at him to stop. I remember my trumpet slipping out of my grasp and landing with a dull thud on the carpet, bending the bell out of alignment and crinkling the brass. An expensive fix, unfortunately for me. But I remember that he did in fact stop, turning to look at me with tears pouring down his face, his eyes red and bloodshot. I'd never seen him so _angry._ He was in anguish. We were so young. As you might imagine, after Jaune finally let go, we were told to leave the classroom. So before any protests could be made, I stomped over, picked up Em under the arms and basically carried her away, her entire being a blubbering mess. She was scared more than she was sad or angry. Because she had realized the same thing Jaune and I had in that moment.

The world will always be full of monsters. It always was, and it always will be. We'd become acutely aware of this, as I pulled a destroyed and shuddering Emerald down the hallway to the main office, one arm around her waist and the other holding her hand, her body desperately trying to shiver itself to pieces. She stumbled back and forth like someone just learning to walk after a paralyzing accident, with no help from Jaune who was just twitching along behind us with his hands in his pockets. I remember the silence, broken only by the shuddering of Em's sobbing gasps, as if the entire city had gone quiet in anticipation. Keep in mind that only one tower had been hit at this moment. It wouldn't be another two hours until the second one would go. So we'd only been exposed to one half of the tragedy, and yet here we were. Broken, alone.

So the moment we got into the office, to a room full of panicking members of faculty, a collection of phones ringing off the hook by parents obviously wanting to tear a strip out of _someone,_ and a school official seemed like the weakest link to them today. Why were their kids still at school? Why wasn't there a lock-down? How many middle-eastern students were at the school? Had they already been locked up? Somebody was to blame, right?

It took a long minute to get Em sitting down again in one of the vaguely uncomfortable cloth chairs I was fairly familiar with from my occasional schoolyard scrap with whatever bully faction was currently picking on me. But pretty much the instant she was sitting down, I remember the intensity to which she ripped off her shawl and tossed it to the ground, staring down at it with a burning look. And them I remember reaching down to pick it up, only for her to shove it out of my hands and back to the ground.

"No, that's not who I am..." she blubbered out. "I'm not a label. I'm not a religion. I'm not one of _them_."

"No, of course you're not." I remember trying to clarify.

"I'm Iranian, not Afghani."

As if it mattered.

"Em, being from a place doesn't automatically make you a bad person, you're a good person no matter where you're from. Bad people come from every country on Earth, and there's nothing we can do about it."

It would take a lot more than a quick pep-talk from me to set her straight, and I knew that. I knew she wasn't going to suddenly perk up and say 'Yeah, Weiss. You're right. I just need to look on the bright side!'. Because unfortunately for us, someone had extinguished the light, leaving both sides dark and without colour. We'd been forsaken. And as Emmy dropped her head against my chest, I just held her in, so that even as alone as we were, we'd at least have each other.

"I want you to remember you're valuable. You're not anything like the bad people in New York, Em. No one but them _is."_

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means..." I tried to come up with something reassuring. I failed. "...That everyone is good at heart, but some people just sort of… aren't."

Normally I was a lot better with words. But I was trying my hardest not to cry, and to keep Em talking so she didn't collapse onto the floor and have a seizure or something. I couldn't imagine the kind of pain she was in. And from the way she was shaking, I don't think it was localized, either.

"I should have stayed home today."

"That wouldn't have changed anything, Em. You'd have had the same problem tomorrow."

"I want my mom."

"I know." I reached into the pocket of my hoodie and pulled out Em's phone, which I had grabbed off the music stand when we'd left the room. "Why don't we call her?"

She didn't say anything more, so I went ahead and did it for her, sliding the top half of the phone up to reveal the buttons. I remembered that she had her mom on speed dail setting one, so I held the key down until the screen flashed the ' _calling'_ icon and held the phone out to her. She sniffled a few times as it rang quietly, almost too quiet to be heard through the panic of the office. But unfortunately for us, we got no answer.

"D-dail tone..." she said, through a heavy breath.

"We'll try again." I said, doing just that. Again, no answer.

We didn't know about what was happening to her father just yet. Only that her mom wasn't answering the phone. All we knew was that his flight had been grounded. Well, we knew _why._ The entire world knew why at this point. And as was the norm when all flights across the continent were grounded, we knew he'd be stuck in The States for a while. We just didn't know in what condition. But it was about this time that Em's mom was finding out in what condition. Specifically, the condition of 'arrested' and 'in protective custody'. Protective for who, I wondered. Of course, in American English, that means 'handcuffed to a hospital bed, surrounded by cops'.

Of course, we wouldn't get through to her mom until much later, when she got home. She was out. Downtown. At the American embassy. _Demanding_ to know what was happening to her husband. She would stay there until one or two in the morning, yelling and screaming until she could yell or scream anymore. She didn't get any answers, of course. It took about twenty minutes for my sister to show up to get us. But just me and Em, Jaune's mom had already called him to tell him she was on her way. He knew he'd be suspended. Of course he would. Nobody really talked about it. Not him, not any of the faculty, not even the poor fool he'd hit. We'd all just accepted it as fact.

However, the fool's parents had wanted their pound of flesh, as was to be expected when their child returned home from school with a black eye and in a fit of crying. When they'd approached the school for answers, Mr. Fernbank, the saint he was, calmly explained that their son had started an altercation with another student, yelling and screaming at her because of a perceived notion of how she looked and on the colour of her skin. And yes, Jaune had stepped in and asked him to stop, but received a strong slap in the face. So yes, Jaune reacted appropriately. A two day suspension was justice for them, and Jaune took it willingly. One less monster in the world was good enough for him.

So by the time my sister had come to collect us and driven us back to her house, Em had stopped shuddering. It had taken the both of us to extricate her from the car and carry her up the wonky stone steps to her door, since while calm, she'd become immobile. It had been a struggle for me to find my key to her house on my keyring while also holding her upright, but I managed. I finally got her into a lying down position on her bed, the only place I felt she'd be comfortable at this point, and we tried to call her mom again. And once again, just the busy signal. I remember kneeling down beside her, and just looking at the panicked, pale face of my friend, broken by a word and an abysmal action.

"Emmy..." I remember stroking her hair gently, trying to get her to come back into real world. "...C'mon, you're alright."

And now I was getting no answer from her either. I got into bed beside her at some point, and just lay next to her on top of the comforter. I don't know if she was trying to sleep like it was just a bad dream, or whether she just wanted to keep quiet out of respect for those who'd fallen that day I'd never know since I never would ask. It wasn't my place to know. Now, I'm not gonna try to feed you some political doctrine about how this whole event was some big conspiracy fabricated by the U.S. government, no. I don't buy into that shit. What I do understand is that there are bad people all around the world, and it doesn't matter what colour their skin is, what god they pray to, or even what side of the bed they get up on. This wasn't a Muslim attack on a Christian country, no. This wasn't an Afghani attack on the United States. This was a collection of people attacking another collection of people, and it unfortunately served to highlight which side was the bad side. And that would be both sides.

"No..." she struggled out after what felt like an hour.

"Yeah, you are. You've got me, and I'm here."

"Mmm..."

I was determined to not let the demons in her head control her, whether she wanted me to or not.

"Look, everything's gonna work out. Nobody's gonna hate you, I promise. _You_ didn't do anything. If any of us are gonna get shit it's Jaune."

I desperately hoped he wouldn't, and that every other student would wise up to the fact that the fool had said something so _racist_ and bigoted that they'd learn some kind of lesson. And more of a lesson that the simple 'talk shit get hit' that we've all learned over the years. To my credit, I don't know if anyone ever did say anything bad about dear Emerald after this. Maybe that was just a fear of the fist. And if that's what it took, hey, at least she wasn't about to be called a terrorist again.

"Mmm..."

"How about we get into our pyjamas and watch a movie?" I tried, in a feeble attempt to get her to not focus on the issue.

"Mmm..."

"Maybe we could go outside? Play with Stripes in the backyard?"

"...mmm..."

And she'd devolved into single noises. I huffed, trying to formulate a plan to get her back up and going. She rolled her head away, stretching her arm out to her fingers hung over the far edge and over her bedside table. With a faint movement, her index finger flicked out and spun the propeller on the model de Havilland Beaver on the nightstand. It only revolved maybe once before stopping. Funny, really. The little white and blue bush plane sat in front of a framed picture of her dad, dressed in his Iranian Air Force uniform and cap, taken five or six years before she'd been born. It was a nice touch that she'd put the model in front of the picture, as it had been the first flying-related thing he'd bought for her. A foolish move, as it started her lifelong affliction with flying. That had unfortunately just been cut short.

Her bedroom was littered with posters, but not of boy bands and anime guys like you'd expect most tween-aged girls rooms to be adorned. No, the posters she kept were all different aircraft, with special emphasis on first and second world war models and their squadrons, insignia and colours on proud display. Four large plastic models hung from the ceiling, a Spitfire, a Zero, a Hurricane, and the peculiar looking Junkers JU-287. She also had kept a small diecast model of the Boeing triple-seven her dad flew on a daily basis, decked out in the full Air Canada livery and on a little glass stand so it looked like it was flying at a slight right banking.

Emerald _idolized_ her father. She wanted to be just like him when she grew up. A pilot, flying around the world and seeing interesting places and getting to look down on everyone from thirty thousand feet and laugh at their vertical inferiority. She'd bought every flight simulator she could get her hands on, built models, and tagged along with her dad on more than a couple transcontinental flights. She loved it. But on that day I don't know if I'd ever seen the light and passion for something _leave_ someone so quickly. Like in one instant, it was gone. Her enthusiasm had departed, leaving her body in the terminal, abandoned. It made _me_ sad.

"Em..." I tried. Pleaded, really. "Em, say something. Don't close down like this."

"Mmm..."

I sighed, dejected. " _Scheiße."_

"I... don't..."

I perked up. That was the first words I'd gotten out of her since the school.

"You don't? You don't what?"

"Mmm..."

Back to square one, then. I sighed, looking away from her again. Her pyjamas were stuffed halfway into a drawer, still open from the morning. Although, it was still actually morning, now that I think about it. It was only maybe ten in the morning. I reached out as far as I could, my fingers barely brushing the soft cotton of her grey p.j. bottoms and matching tank top. And if it was any indication of just _how much_ Emmy wanted to be a pilot, she was the only person I'd ever met with Lycoming branded pyjamas.

It was a struggle to get her into them, too. If you think dressing an infant is hard, try dressing a comatose teenager who's body is locked up from shock. It took me maybe twenty minutes to get her undressed and then another ten to get her _re_ dressed, but eventually I managed, pulling the comforter off the bed and getting her head on a pillow properly. It's not that she was fighting me. I think she'd given up fighting all together at this point. It's just that she didn't want to _be_ anymore, and that really killed her ability to move. But once she was back in her jammies, she seemed a little more pliable. But only just.

"There, that better?" I tried to little effect. She just closed her eyes and sighed.

There was only one thing for it. I went for a second dive into her dresser and grabbed another pair of p.j.s, these ones being dark green and plaid. The ones she took when we had sleepovers, that she didn't mind getting crumbs and Jaune on. I tossed them on with haste, kicking my jeans across the room and jumping into bed, yanking the covers up and over the two of us. I wiggled in closer to her, draping my arm over her stomach and having to hike up the borrowed bottoms as they were too big and too long on my skinny hips and my short legs.

"Hey," I said, squeezing her side in my fingers. "Hey, look at me."

Her head lolled over, but she didn't meet my eyes. They traced down to to my cheek instead. It was a start if anything.

"I want you to know you're safe with me."

"Hmm..." her voice came out, breathy and distant.

"Emerald, you're fine. I'm here for you."

I tucked the blanket up higher so it came just under our chins. Off in the distance I could hear a kettle boiling, no doubt my sister making an extra-strong coffee and trying to understand what bullshit was going on around her.

Then, taking me by complete surprise, she rolled over in bed towards me and wrapped her arm around my back and pulled me close. I barely had time to react as she did, her left arm punching its way underneath me and pulling my body against hers. And then she started to cry again. Out loud, this time.

"Hey, hey, shushshshhhhh... it's okay." I tried, pressing my forehead into hers. "It's okay."

"No, it's not!" her voice came out, an insistent yell without any sound. I pulled her close.

"Yes, it is. You'll be fine. We'll be fine."

"How?"

I tried something Winter used to do to me when _I_ was sad. I pulled her head down and gave her a soft smooch on the top of her head. She still smelled like the green hair dye from the other day, with strong overtones of the raspberry shampoo she liked. Her body relaxed in my grasp. Her leg pushed forward and I let it rest between mine. She'd curled up in my grasp. I think she felt safe now.

"I brought your shawl. It's in my bag. If you want it."

"I don't..."

I cupped her face in my hands and brought it up to look at.

"Why not?"

"It's not who I am." she said, her face and the front of my shirt now quite damp.

"Hey, now," I said, giving her a suitable Big Sister look. "When have you ever let that define you? You're not just the shawl, you know. And I know you love that shawl, so why leave it behind?"

"That's all they're gonna see..."

"You _know_ that's not true, sweetie. People aren't gonna look at you funny if you wear a headscarf, a hijab, or whatever you want. And if they do, that's not someone you want to talk to, now is it?"

She closed her eyes, and pressed her face back against my chest. "No."

"I love you just the way you are, shawl or no shawl. Have _I_ ever looked at you differently because of it?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Nope. I'm right. Besides, if anyone _does_ say anything to you, we'll just sic Jaune on them, apparently"

"That's violent."

I sighed. "I know. I still can't believe he did that. It was necessary, but that doesn't mean it was a good idea. I'm sorry, Emmy. On his behalf."

She rubbed her nose on my sternum, probably ruining my shirt. Oh well, that's what washing machines are for. Now, I won't pretend to condemn Jaune's actions that day, and say that what he did was ostensibly wrong or anything, because I genuinely believe that there was no amount of punishment the school could have dolled out for _that_ kind of bullying that would have resulted in a fundamental change in his character and actions. Even if he'd been expelled for saying that to Emmy, he'd have just gone on to say it again at whatever school he ended up at afterwards. What Jaune did, to put it simply, is that that kind of hate speech isn't just not tolerated, it is abhorrent to the point of causing adverse physical reactions in people. You can 'boys will be boys' me all day long, but when it comes to shit like this, what Jaune did was _right._ But that doesn't mean he should have. But we were damn glad he did.

"Okay..."

"I want you to feel better, Em. How can I make you feel better?"

She shrugged.

"I want my dad back."

"And you'll get him back, I promise. But you'll need to choose something I can actually do right here and now to help you. I'm afraid I'm not omnipotent."

She gave me a pity laugh. "Oh, that's disappointing."

"Sorry."

She sighed. "Hug me?"

I pulled her in. "Kinda already doing that, silly. But I can do this for as long as you need me to."

"Forever."

"That can be arranged."

I wasn't aware at the time that it was possible to get hugged so hard, but I was suddenly enlightened as Em's arms suddenly constricted all the air out of my lungs. I did my best to comfort her, stroking her hair gently behind her ears, the soft green curtains like silk in my fingers. But not breathing was hard.

"Thank you."

"You're quite welcome, Emmy. I'm gonna keep you safe. I love you."

"Mmm..." she paused to sniffle. "...I love you too."

I hummed softly into her cheek. She was a mess. _I_ was a mess. The whole lot of us were. I didn't know how Russel was dealing with all this, but I'm sure he could make do without us. He was tough. In his own way. I think at some point in the first day, I called him to check in, and he'd gone home early to think. As most of us did. And on that first day, Em and I quite literally spent ten full hours in bed, curtains closed and lights off, in fair silence. She fell asleep a few times, waking up with weak gasps and sad tears on her face. I let her be the little spoon, despite her standing six or seven inches taller. All curled up, she wasn't so tall anymore.

I knew it would take a while to get her readjusted to real life. Because of course it would. I'm not trying to make any political statements about who was right in this and who was wrong. _Everyone_ was wrong. But what was _right_ was me keeping Emmy company for as long as I could. And making sure she stayed safe. That meant that I'd stay with her all week at her house. We didn't go back until the following Monday. I only got out of bed on the first day twice to get us food. Mostly microwaved instant ramen in her cupboard and cookies I found in her pantry. My sister had gone home around noon and left us alone, just so she could have some time to herself. She'd been nice enough to leave us some homemade spaghetti in the fridge, which we didn't get around to eating until Thursday. And that was fine by us.

But around ten at night, the day of the attacks, the unthinkable happened. We were lying in bed, as I said, trying to distract ourselves. I was reading a book I'd found in Em's side table, and she was sitting next to me, well, more snuggled into my tummy, but the point stood. She was sitting next to me nonetheless, playing with my hair and trying to braid it over my shoulder. It was silent, apart from the noise of the furnace in the basement.

So when her cellphone rang from the side table, we both nearly jumped clear off the bed and onto the floor. We hadn't expected anyone to call at this hour, so we'd been left unaware and relaxed. The ringtone was awfully specific too, ' _Leaving on a Jet Plane'_ by Peter, Paul and Mary. I looked to Emmy. She'd noticed the ringing as well, and had gone pale.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"It's..." she said, furrowing.

I reached out for her phone and grabbed it. The little screen on the lid had three little palindromic letters on it. I gasped.

"I think you better answer this, Em."

"Y-yeah, I think you're right..."

She took the phone in her hands, unlatching herself from me and sitting up. She flipped the phone open, and very slowly reached for the answer button. She clicked it with a shaking hands.

" _Baba?"_ She said, quietly.

" _Hello, my dear."_ He responded in plain English. The little speaker in the earpiece was hard to listen to, but we managed.

"Dad?"

" _My gem, how are you fairing?"_

"Fai- what do you mean, how am _I_ fairing? What's going on? Where are you?"

" _For now, my love, I am in a hospital in Houston."_

I could _feel_ her shaking in the bed.

"Wh-why?"

" _It's not important, but I can assure you I'm alright,"_ he lied, but Emmy smiled anyways.

"B-but..."

" _Your mother has been fervently trying to reach me. Unfortunately, since I've been placed in custody, she's been unable to get through. And because this is the United States department of Justice, I only am allowed one phone call."_

"So you called... me?"

" _I had to be sure you were alright, my gem. And my lawyer is already here, so I didn't need to call him. He drove for the last twelve hours straight to come here from Detroit."_

Her voice hitched. "What's going to happen, _baba?"_

" _Well, first I am going to get stitches in my head, then I will be doing all I can to come home to you as fast as possible."_

"How... how long?"

" _I do not know. My lawyer is already drafting a collection of lawsuits for me, against everyone involved. If I am not released soon, they will be filed and I will have to stay to see the outcomes. But for now, we are just to wait to see if they release me with an apology. That I don't believe I will be getting."_

" _Baba..._ You... you're gonna come home, right?"

" _As soon as I can. I promise."_

This time he was telling the truth. His lawyer and the legal team that supported him were all firmly on his side, and expedited the creation and drafting of _seventeen_ lawsuits on all the offending members of the public, and staff of the airport, and the Houston county sheriff's office. This proved effective, as it meant he would be released considerably faster than normal, since no one wanted to cause an international incident. Something we were _all_ glad for. Sometimes even the thickest people can be made to reason. It would be Friday when he'd return, driven up from Texas by his lawyer in the back of his Mercedes. But for now, he was still stuck down there.

"O-okay."

" _Are you alone?"_

"Well... mom's not home..."

" _I heard. Are you by yourself right now?"_

"No, Weiss is with me, _baba._ "

Her father chuckled through the phone. " _Ah, yes. Is she keeping you company? Keeping you safe?"_

Emerald looked to me, and I nodded, placing my hand on her cheek and rubbing the wet spot under her eye. She smiled at me. "Yeah, she's here for me."

 _Damn right I am,_ I thought. Emmy smiled, rubbing her face in my hand.

" _That's good. I hope she can stay with you as long as possible. I'm going to be a while."_

"Okay, _baba._ I'm..."

" _My gem, it's okay."_

"I don't want you to be hurt, _baba."_

" _I'll be fine."_

"Bad people hurt you."

" _Bad people exist everywhere, my gem. It is how we deal with it that defines what kind of people_ we _are. Do you understand?"_

"I-I think so."

" _Then I think you'll be alright. You just need to be patient, my gem."_

"Okay, _baba."_

" _I'll see you soon, Emerald. I love you more than anything."_

"I love you too, _baba."_

" _Remember to eat well. And give Weiss a hug for me, as thanks for keeping you safe."_

"I will."

" _I will see you soon."_

"G-goodbye, _baba."_

The line ended. She closed her phone and stared at it for a moment. I did too. We were just scared children. We didn't understand how the world worked yet. In a moment, I felt like I was eight years old again, naive and frightened, unsure of how to act or behave, and terrified of just how big and scary everything was. But there was a light at the end of the tunnel. No matter what happened to him, Emmy's dad was a trooper, and could pull through and bring himself back to his family. Because it would be a cold day in hell when someone kept Farhad Sustrai away from his daughter and his family. I remember when she'd put her phone back down on top of the covers on her lap, and scrunched up her fists full of blankets. She looked at me for a second, her eyes red and her cheeks wet. Then she reached out to hold me. In any other circumstance, I'd have thought she was going to kiss me.

But she didn't, instead, taking me in her arms and hugging me, her damp cheek pressed against mine. I turned my face into hers and gave her my own pathetic kiss on that very damp cheek, just to assure her that I cared.

And this is how we stayed, probably for the next two days. We didn't go back to school until the following Monday, and when we did, everything was different. Nobody would meet our eyes in the halls, nobody would speak to us unless absolutely necessary. We'd become outcasts, unfairly. Granted, nobody spoke about us in hushed tones, they knew better than to do that. Nobody said anything bad about Emmy, lest they face the wrath of Jaune, and _certainly_ nobody used the T-word ever again to her or _any_ of the middle-eastern students. But no one every said anything _good_ about Emmy either, and that felt to me just as bad. We received no apology from the fool, but I didn't expect one. Like her dad had said, it was how we dealt with it that defined who we were. So we just brushed him off and became the better people.

I spent a lot of time sitting with Emmy at school for the rest of the year, making sure she ate her lunch and did her homework. And when her dad got back from the United States, we had a party. A very big party, with just our regular crew and Em's parents. We had cake in the shape of his pilot's hat. The real item of which she'd taken and proceeded to wear everywhere. To school, to our group socials, and even to bed.

We were there the day the world changed. We weren't prepared for it, and even in the isolation of the Great White North, we still felt trapped. But even with the hole that had been dug, we still managed to climb out. Because we had each other. Jaune and Russel, too. Nobody was ever alone.

We were there the day the world changed.

And it made us stronger.

Together.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

 _June 8_ _th_ _, 2002_

Saturday!

A good day to kick back, relax, and enjoy the end of eighth grade, and the end of our childhoods too. We were about to become high-school students! Adults! Okay, not really, we were only fourteen. We still had another four years by the Ontario government's standards, and five by the drinking age. Stupid every other province gets a lower drinking age but us. It was unfair. Unjust, even!

We didn't have any homework this weekend, since by this point in the school year our teachers were just about fed up with us. Most of them had the constant look of ' _I hope the high school teachers can whip these brats into shape because I sure as hell can't_ ' plastered all over their sad, sorry faces. The most intensive learning we were doing was finishing up the last two acts of Twelfth Night with Miss Bergman, who we could all tell _loathed_ the overly dramatic readings that Jaune and I kept doing for Viola and Duke Orsino. She kept asking us to stop, and we would for like five minutes. But then Shakespeare would kick in and we'd _have_ to go all out.

The liner notes said _soliloquy,_ for darn's sake! That was the cue to be as dramatic as humanly possible! And to be fair, our classmates always loved our shenanigans, from the way we'd stage _actual_ sword fights despite being told it was 'unsafe' or some nonsense like that. It wasn't unsafe, we were just teenagers. We had springy bones, we healed quickly. Besides, breaking a leg meant you were dedicated to the part. But making our classmates laugh wasn't really our point, it was always to try and get Emerald to laugh and smile, and generally break out of the Emo phase she had decided was cool all of a sudden. The dyed black hair, the heavy, _heavy_ eyeliner, the black lipstick. The whole works. Think like, nineties television show villain with a hint of Mediterranean flair. Still gorgeous, just monochromatic.

And we frequently _would_ get her to bust a gut in her chair, drop her book, clutch her sides. She might have put on the 'Fuck Society' charade on the outside, but she was still our charming, goofy best friend who liked to laugh at our dumb jokes and stupid antics. Because we were hilarious, obviously. And that deserved a good hearty laugh at. Any way to break her out of her little shell was fine by us, and that included publicly embarrassing ourselves with _Theatre!_

One of my particular favourite scenes we did was a conversation between Orsino and Viola that we did quite dramatically. The scene is where Viola and Orsino are talking about what it means to love, and how madly infatuated The Duke is with Olivia, played by one of the other students, some girl with orange hair, can't remember her name, and Viola and Orsino keep going back and for with 'my love for you' to each other. At one point, I got up in Jaune's face as Cesario, like _right_ up in his face and expressed my love for him in the most manly of voices, to which he put on this disgusted face and ad libbed 'Ew, no, that's gay', a line favoured by Dear Emmy.

She laughed so hard she fell out of her chair. To the point where we couldn't continue class because we couldn't get back into character. I kept trying to look at the page and read the line, but I was tearing up from laughter and I just couldn't hold myself or my book up anymore. We were dismissed by a relentlessly annoyed teacher who was done with us.

We always tried to petition to have class outside, Jaune and I. Only _once_ did we convince our science teacher to let us conduct class in the mini-amphitheatre that was created by some concrete blocks out behind the school. That was a good day. We had to do presentations on some kind of particle interactions with poster boards and everything, and somehow we'd conned our prof into taking us outside. It was great, I got to lecture about proton interactions in the bright sun on a warm May morning. I got a ninety-five on that project, by the way. Emmy and Jaune only got like eighty-somethings on their projects. Not to say that's paltry, that's really impressive still, and I'm very proud of them.

But if only we'd have done Shakespeare in the yard, I'd have been able to get loud and rowdy with it, and prove that I wasn't just a good musician and adequate scientist, but a true purveyor of the _fine arts_ as well _._ So many missed opportunities, and such hampering of my skill. Damn you, teachers! How dare you inhibit my talents!

Just kidding, they weren't inhibiting anything, I'm just being dramatic. Something I certainly couldn't ever say for how Em presented her version of a dull and muted, and frankly _stoned-_ sounding Olivia, who was always exasperated about everything to do with her original plans of being woo'd by the Duke. Good thing Emmy _didn't_ get woo'd by Jaune, I'd have had to throw down. Also that wouldn't have been coherent with the plot of her being in love with me, duh. I think she was in reality just fed up with having to read in front of the class, because she found it especially grating to have to be interested in performing for what she considered the bottom of the barrel of her schoolmates. Yeah, AP English class was _that_ rough _._ We'd often do dramatic readings at Jaune's place when we were studying for the crummy mid-chapter review quizzes, and Em would break out her inner performer, so we knew she was if anything _a little_ fun. But the in class stuff? Nah. She seemed to mostly be there to laugh at Jaune and I.

So when we were out biking on Saturday, down in the Britannia Park area of downtown and Jaune ran in to his usual mishap, she was down to crack one out as always.

"No- no- no -NO! Shit!" he yelled, as he basically fell sideways off his bike. While _stopped._

I looked back at the idiot. We'd been stopped on the big bike highway that ran from the marina to the beach at an intersection, complete with little stop signs and dotted yellow dividing lines and everything. And he must have just lost his balance and fell sideways away from Emerald, into the ditch next to the pathway.

"Jaune?" I questioned, kind of tilting my head at him. This was semi-usual in that he didn't have the best balance, but this particular incident was certainly an outlying occurrence. "Uh, Jaune?"

Emmy was suitably unhelpful as she just watched him fall, and proceeded to sputter through her breath, laughing like a hyena.

"Ow." he assumed, lying as part of a crumpled mess of bicycle and limbs. "I've fallen."

"Glad you've come to that conclusion." I teased. "Shall you make yourself un-fallen, or are you content with your spot on the pavement?"

"I'm stuck." he mumbled, frowning. I gotta say, his grumpy face was _always_ adorable.

Emmy was near her tipping point as well, very much about to fall off her own bike just from the hyperventilating-laughing she was struggling to breathe through. She had enough willpower left in her body to very carefully put her kickstand down and step off her low-frame cruiser, using it as a railing to hold herself up on.

"Boy, Jaune," she sputtered through tears. "How clumsy can you possibly be?!"

"I was trying not to - _ow_ \- hit you in the lane, jerk!"

I too dismounted, throwing my leg over the unladylike high-bar frame of my mountain bike and kicking the heavy stand down to rest the slightly-too-tall bike on. Jaune was okay, of course, so picking him back up was a no-hassle, even with Loser standing over us offering no help at all. My sister, too, sitting up at the front of the line, looking back at us with amusement and joy on her face. No sense of concern, of course. Jaune fell over himself enough times a day that it wasn't an issue anymore. I picked him up, brushed him off of gravel, and rather aggressively rubbed the gear-shaped grease stain off his calf, licking my thumb to get it off properly.

"There you go, all better." I said, standing up with a coy smile. "How do you feel?"

"Pissed off that someone I considered my friend and ally thinks it's _so_ funny when I hurt myself!" his voice rose to a dramatic yell as he turned his ire to the offending party.

"Ah, shuddup, Jaune. You're alright, right?" she wiped a tear from her eye, quite a lot of eyeliner coming with it.

" _Unfortunately for you."_ he glared, his arms crossed.

"You love me." she teased, gliding herself back onto her seat and making sure the frilly black dress didn't catch in the chain guard. "Get back on your bike, idiot."

He fumed, but without any malice behind it and did indeed remount his bicycle. With my help, of course. The bruise on his leg was starting to turn purple, and I sort of ignored it for the time being, since we had such a long way to go back to the car. I tossed myself loosely back onto my seat and slammed my kickstand back up, looking back at Jaune and Loser.

"We ready to go?"

He glared to his right as hard as he could, trying to get Em to catch fire, to no avail. "Yes." he sneered.

"Well, alright then." I turned back around and pedalled off, taking us through the intersection we'd been stuck at and down the pathway that cut through the park. "Follow me!"

The park contained a tiny beach, one which we all hated because the water quality was considered biohazardous and filled with contaminants that would stain your skin black if you waded in. But it _was_ the closest beach to us and it had a nice rock wall to walk out on if you wanted to roll your ankle or watch a sunset or something. We weren't stopping at crappy beach today, because we had a destination in mind, one that made even the dunes at Sandbanks provincial park seem insignificant. We had a significant ride ahead of us, too, all the way back to the National Gallery where we'd started in the morning. Many people might argue that it's only twenty or so kilometres each way, but this was Ottawa in June, along the bank of the Ottawa River. So windy both directions, and _cold_ windy both directions. In the sun was nice and warm, but the gusts coming off the river could knock you off your feet if you weren't prepared.

Because all the way back downtown, usually touring around Major's Hill park at about this time of day, was the single greatest invention of all time if you were a child at heart who enjoyed a spot of exercise. Or just a child. And that invention would be the Ice Cream Bicycle. This three-wheeled mobile cooler would trundle around dinging it's bell and serving delicious Drumsticks and Bomb Pops and Cadbury Dairy bars, and if you were lucky, Dilly Bars as well. Those are unfortunately a trademark of Dairy Queen, so you never really saw them in convenience store coolers, but the owner of the Ice Cream Cycle would always buy them special because he knew everyone liked them so much. I know that in reality, all this 'ice cream' was really just terrible fake barely milk-based sugar confectionery, but does it look like I give a damn?

I pedalled ahead, far outpacing Jaune, Loser, and my sister, and popping a sick wheelie as I dashed along. I could see in my tiny circular mirror that Jaune and Em were trying to keep pace with me, but they were no match for a nostalgic teenager on the quest for snacks. I was on a mission. Their problems with keeping up were partly due to the tools at their disposal, I do have to give them _some_ credit. Jaune's bike featured a mid-frame spring, that while cool looking, sucked quite a lot of pedal torque out of his legs than an equivalent straight-frame bike would. And Emmy's bike, while indeed featuring a solid frame, was certainly lacking for gearing. Where mine and Jaune's were the full twenty-one speeds, Em was restricted to a measly _three._ Low, direct, and overdrive, so she could never maintain the same kind of pace as we could. Her bike was a lot cooler though, as it was her mom's from when she lived in Chelsea, painted bright orange and having it's gear selector as a stick that was bolted to the frame and a rotary clutch you had to activate before changing gears.

But cool bikes or not, they weren't catching me. I thought I could hear Emmy yelling at me to slow down from way back, but if she wanted to talk to me, she had to catch me. Now, I don't want to make it out like I was some kind of barrel-legged athlete when it comes to biking, because I'm not. I was still getting overtaken by these guys who I guess were out training for some kind of race on their multiple-thousands-of-dollars carbon fibre super bikes, I was just faster than two of my friends, one of whom wasn't exactly big on physical activity, and my sister, who probably just wanted a relaxing Saturday in the sun with her family. And I was giving her that! Just, you know, two hundred feet away, at thirty kilometres an hour.

Emmy and Jaune were doing their best to keep up, still trailing behind. I could hear the mechanical grinding of the wheel-driven headlight on Em's bike getting closer and closer. This either meant that she was getting faster, which wasn't possible, or _I_ was getting tired. My breathing was getting kinda ragged, so to be fair I was probably running out of steam. I huffed, and let myself coast as the others rejoined me, my rear tumbler ratcheting loudly.

"Why d'you always gotta race ahead?" Em asked, pulling along my left side.

"I 'unno, why are you guys always so slow?" I managed, out of breath but faking it well.

"We're taking it at a leisurely pace, as it was intended. You're gonna hurt yourself, idiot!"

"Hey, I'm not gonna hurt myself!"

My lungs ached in retaliation. Stupid comedic timing of my body parts. I resumed my pedalling, cranking my gears right up to the top, slowing my tender legs. I was indeed gonna hurt myself, as I am also indeed an idiot. A fool and her energy were soon parted. I grabbed my water bottle from under my seat and opened it with my teeth, and proceeded to squirt water into my mouth.

And of course, by mouth, I mean nose.

"Shit! _Blueeghh!"_

I dropped my water bottle as I was suddenly blinded. It bounced harmlessly off the side of the road and I was helpless to get it as I coasted away, wiping my face on my arm and trying to get the snot off my lip. I coughed, sputtering. The bottle was in the dirt, far behind the three of us, and I couldn't exactly stop quickly since Jaune would run into me, so I just sorta had to abandon it.

"Shit."

"Ha!" Em laughed, pointing at me with one of her Loser fingers. "That's what you get!"

"Shut up." I sniffled hard, basically inhaling the rest of the water up my nose.

Lucky for me, my sister was far enough back and moving slow enough to see the calamity I'd created, and slowed down as she approached my dropped bottle. With a deft kick, she hoisted the bottle from the ground and into her own hand, like a goddamn footie master. I dunno if it was luck or skill, but by the look on my sister's face, probably the former. I was still impressed.

"Drop something?" she teased, having to yell from the distance back she was.

I frowned at stuck out my tongue. You know, the thing you're not supposed to do while riding something like a bicycle. Or a horse. I didn't bit my tongue, luckily, since I didn't need a repeat of last time lest I actually bite it off. We slowed down to let her catch up, and I took my water bottle from her hands mid-ride, carrying on without holding the handlebars because I'm a badass. It's not like they'd watched me tumble off my bike a zillion times trying to perfect this technique or anything.

"Anyone want a drink?"

"Ew, no."

"It's just water, and you're not usually afraid of my germs, Em."

She blinked at me from her bike. "It's been on the ground."

I coasted forward, holding my bottle in one hand.

"Fair point."

I stuck it back into the little holder under my seat. We continued along the pathway, passing by groups of walkers, joggers and their dogs, and slower cyclists. The chill June air coming off the river was warmer than I was expecting, but still chilly. Lucky I had my 'borrowed' Nike hoodie on to keep me warm. I mean, I say borrowed but we all knew he wasn't getting it back. 'Cause that's the rule, if you give a girl your hoodie, well, that's now her hoodie, no exceptions. Although I think Emmy had more of his hoodies at this point, the thief. She was always finding excuses to nab them off him. I'd seen his closet slowly empty over a period of a few weeks, and his mother's slow lapse into exasperation as she kept having to buy more and more hoodies. I on the other hand, was content with just the one.

"Ugh, how much further?" Em asked, back-pedalling and shifting her bike into overdrive. "My legs are _killing_ me."

"Em, this is literally the halfway point. We came all the way here from downtown, and we only just left Britannia. We're in this for another hour, at _least."_

"My legs are gonna die."

"You should have taken my sister's bike," Jaune quipped. "That one would have been easier to ride."

"But then I couldn't wear my skirt."

"Sacrifices, man."

"Not giving up my skirt for a bike. This is my favourite skirt."

Winter leaned into the conversation. "To be fair, it's a really pretty skirt."

"Thank you, Winter." she said, smiling appreciatively and nodding her head. The firm card ring inside the rim of her cap kept it on her head and off the ground. Which was good, since it was such an expensive hat.

"Okay, how come when _I_ say stuff to compliment you, you swear at me, but when Winter does it you're all polite and thankful?!" I semi-demanded, mocking offence.

"Because I was taught to respect my elders, and I agree with her statement on the subject of my skirt."

"But _I'm_ older than you too!"

"That's debatable."

"I'm older than the _both_ of you!"

Jaune looked a little shocked. "Hey, I'm not part of this argument."

"Well, what's your opinion on the skirt?"

He looked to Em for permission, to which she glared back at him.

"It looks like clothing to me."

"Boo, cop out!"

"Look, I'm not allowed to compliment her, just like you!"

I looked to Emmy instead. "Boo!"

She stuck her tongue out at me, and I retaliated. She did it again. This was not okay. I distracted her by going back and forth with our tongues for a moment as I secretly reached under my seat and grabbed by water bottle again, popping the little top open with my thumb. The next time she stuck her tongue in my direction, I raised the bottle in my hand and _squeezed._

"Wo- _AAARGHH!"_

Her expression went from smug to shock to insulted to soaked in about half a second.

"Dude, what the _fuck!"_

"Don't stick your tongue out at me, Loser."

"And you think that squirting water in my face is an appropriate response?!"

"Step to me, I'll end you in whatever way I see fit, Em."

"Bitch."

"Yeah, but _your_ bitch."

"I disagree."

"Jaune, your thoughts on this matter as an unbiased third party?"

"Uh" he fought for words. "I am keeping quiet to avoid picking a side, how's that?"

I'm afraid it wasn't good enough. I scowled at him, to demonstrate my ire, at which he just shrugged. This was not an okay reaction. I levelled the water bottle at him. His eyes flashed brief terror, knowing that he had nowhere to go, but resigned to his fate himself as I squeezed the bottle. He just closed his eyes and let the stream of water hit him in the face and let happen. Winter laughed as she attempted to scold me, but she thought it was too funny to fault.

So I squirted her too.

/.../

The final stretch. The worst leg of the journey. The most pain a cyclist on the Trans Canada Pathway must endure.

The uphill ramp to Major's Hill Park.

The distance you have to go up is about a hundred feet up, and you have to make that climb in about a hundred and fifty feet of pathway. So you can do some quick pythagorean math to figure out just how _steep_ this ramp is. It's substantial. It's leg-numbing. It's _brutal._

"C'mon - _huff -_ guys!" I barely managed out, completely out of breath. We'd barely started the climb, only having _just_ crossed the locks. "Almost - _huff -_ there!"

"I can't do this, Weiss!" Em yelled from how far back she was. "I don't have a low enough gear! I'm not gonna make it!"

"C'mon, Em, use those - _huff -_ legs!"

"I can't… there's no leg left to use…"

Jaune was almost having as tough a time as Em, that centre-sprung trail bike of his sucking every ounce of strength out of his legs into itself. He was full on standing up and cranking down, having a hell of a time even in the lowest available gear. His panting was like a dog, only with a hint of asthmatic strain from his overworked lungs that I'd beaten into submission on the long ride to Britannia and back.

In fact, the only one of us that was having even a little bit of an easy time was my sister, comfortably still sat on her seat, her muscled legs and cardio-trained lungs having absolutely no trouble whatsoever with the steep grade. In fact, she made it look easy. She made it look _level._ Damn, maybe I should have gone and tried out for rugby all those years ago instead of nerdy music lessons. She cruided on past us up the hill, even weighed down by the backpack on her back and the cooler on her bike's front rack. How dare she.

"I can't-!" Emmy sputtered, her bike coming to a grinding halt on the hill, where it moved no further. "Shit! Didn't make it!"

She dismounted and started to push her bike up the rest of the steep hill, leaving only Jaune and myself to try fruitlessly to catch my sister. We were losing ground, and fast. There was no way we'd catch her, and we knew that. But as recent teenagers, we had something to prove, so we hammered along anyways, putting life and lung at risk to do so.

"C'mon - _huff -_ Jaune… Last one to the top - _huff -_ pays!"

" _Huhh -_ deal."

His bike was almost bouncing up and down with how hard he was pumping his legs. That spring was doing him in. And that meant I was _winning._ Even my skinny little legs burning wasn't holding me back from beating Jaune up this hill. The sweat dripping down my nose was on the verge of making me sneeze, but a quick shake of the head got it out of there in a hurry. I was starting to realize that first-first gear wasn't low enough for me. I was slowing.

There wasn't enough of me left.

My legs stopped spinning briefly. A mistake. Oh shit.

"Ahh - _huff -_ noooo…."

I rolled to a stop immediately, putting my legs down. I was on _fire._ Everything was ankles were completely wasted, my knees had completely exploded.

"Shit." I huffed. "That's it, I'm out."

I got off my bike, my hips burning like wildfire as I removed my seat from way up my butt. The pain of the ride was almost euphoric, because the relief now meant it was _over_. Although this feeling washed away fairly quickly as I noticed _Jaune_ riding slowly away from me.

"Sonofa - _huff -_ bitch!"

He sneered at me, obvious smugness on his face. What a douche.

"Hey!"

"Keep up - _huhh -_ loser!" He joked, bouncing his way up the hill and _away_ from me. The _nerve!_

I continued up the hill, pushing my bike alongside Emmy and her bike, both of us out of breath and weak.

"Ten bucks says he gives up just past the bushes." she wheezed.

"You're on."

As if I was gonna bet against Jaune. It would an easy ten bucks. His bicycle might have been working completely against him, but he was determined. Jaune was the kind of guy who`d have a heart attack before he would give up. He wouldn't put his feet down if he ran out of steam, he`d just let himself fall over, pedalling the whole way down.

"Ugh, my mouth is so _dry."_

I grabbed the bottle of water under my seat and handed it to Loser. "Here."

She grabbed the bottle without any hesitation and fired most of it into her face. Hey, what happened to ' _it's been on the ground_ ' now, Loser? She was always such a drama queen. But that's why I love her.

"Thanks." she tossed it back to me, and I finished off the rest of it.

"This was a terrible idea. This is too much cycling."

"Nah, it's fine. Just need to do leg day more often."

"It's not the legs, man. I've got nasty cramps and you've made me bike uphill."

"We went _down_ this hill this morning, you coulda just walked up the whole way. You knew the hill was here, Loser."

"Yeah, but I was inconvenienced anyways."

"How about when I win the bet, I'll buy you two Bomb Pops. That'll make you feel better, something nice and cold."

"Dude, it's just cramps, not menopause. And that would be _my_ money you'd be spending, how is that supposed to make me feel better?!"

"It's Bomb Pops. You could cure death with those things, man. They're _so_ good!"

Em scoffed.

"Nah, they're okay, but Fudge Bars are better."

"You're insane, Bomb Pops are far better."

"We didn't have Bomb Pops in Iran."

"No? That's unfortunate."

She levelled a look at me as we slowly trudged up the hill, nearing the top.

"D'you really think that a Red, White, and Blue ice cream treat would go over well in Iran?"

I shrugged.

"Better than red and yellow with a hammer and sickle."

"Tsk. Barely."

"Fair. I'll get you two Fudge Bars, then."

"Eh, depends if you win the bet."

"Well, we're about to find out." I chipped, as we finally rounded the last tight corner and arrived at street level, right next to the National Gallery. Major's Hill Park was no more than half a block ahead of us.

And lo and behold, Jaune was just ahead of us, still on his bike.

"Ha!" I cheered.

"Aw, _fuck_ me!"

"Woo!"

"Goddamnit, Jaune!"

Much to my appreciation, he was still upright. This meant I had won, and that was exactly how it should have been. Not to say he _should_ have made it all the way up, since he was fully out of breath and barely hanging on to his own vitality. My sister was stopped just a little bit beyond him, facing us with her elbows propped up on her handlebars and this amused Big Sister expression plastering her face.

"Took ya so long?" she yelled out to us.

"Ran out of gears!" Em yelled back for us. Watching Jaune, I was starting to worry he was about to collapse onto the ground again.

I put my leg back over my bike and pushed gently forward, coasting back up to Jaune and my sister. Emmy tried to do the same, but stumbled as she hadn't quite got her legs back yet, rattling her bell and front fender. I heard her mumble something about gravity and fornicating with it as she trundled up to us.

"Here." she pouted, handing me a bright purple bill, still crisp and fresh from the bank machine. I accepted it with a smug smile. "That'll teach me to bet against a cheater like you."

"How did I cheat?! I literally didn't have any pull in this!"

"Yeah, well… just get me my ice cream."

I chuckled. "Yes, ma'am."

At this point, Jaune fell off his bike and into the grass, splaying himself out like a starfish. Em sputtered a laugh out, wheezing as she almost dropped her bike watching him. I skidded to a stop next to Jaune, peering down at him.

"Y'alright?"

"Can't - _huhh -_ heart - _huhh -_ ow…"

"Oh, stop being so dramatic."

"I want to - _huhh -_ die."

"If you can complain, you can breathe. Get up."

"You owe - _huhh -_ ice… cream…. _shit."_

He clutched at his chest, rolling onto his side and wheezing into the grass. Poor guy. I'd have just given up and walked my bike up if I knew my whole body would protest this badly. I mean, I _did_ give up, but that was because of my legs, not my chest.

"You havin' a heart attack?" Em asked, her voice somewhere between teasing and genuine concern.

"No - _huhh -_ I'm… good." he gave her a weak thumbs up. "Help me up - _huhh_ \- please."

I reached down and grabbed him by the hand, his sweating fingers almost slipping away from me. He managed to get back onto his stupid feet and picked up his fallen bike. His exhausted stumbling was really funny to me and Emerald as he tried to get back on, failing quite humorously.

By the time we were prepared and back all on our bikes again and ready to go, it was around about five in the evening, almost on the dot. The bells sounding from Notre-Dame confirmed as such as we started to ride again into Major's Hill park, on the hunt for the ice cream and the man who sold them. Hank Winson was a retired Ottawa police officer, who must have been between seventy and seventy-five, all muscle and white beard, who had spent the last five years riding around on his Ice Cream Bicycle around downtown serving ice cream to tourists and residents of the city. All he wanted was to provide for his community, and that was about as honourable as a person could be. We knew Hank by name by this point, and he was used to seeing us around the Park and would frequently give us discounts. But it's not like we were blending in to any crowd, with Jaune's super-yellow blond hair, Em's normally bright green hair, and my stark white 'do that all stood out like sore thumbs. Even today, with Jaune's hair tucked away under a hat, Em's black dyed hair, and me, well, with my normal hair, we knew he'd recognize us anyways.

So when we heard the familiar jingle of the four bells on the bike's handlebars, we all fervently booked it in the direction it had come from. Now, arguably, it could have been four reindeer wandering along in perfect synchronization, but seeing as it was June and also we were all beyond the age of believing in a large man in the Arctic with flying farm animals, the more logical explanation was Hank the Ice Cream Cop.

Sure enough, just around the northwest corner of the U.S. Embassy, was the infamous bicycle, riding around with the old man saddled tall on the old leather seat. He was easy to chase down. He didn't move particularly quickly, so even as completely bushed as we were, we caught up. He was pleasantly happy to see us, and was just as pleased to serve us our ice cream, which I paid for with my bet winnings. I got myself a bright and colourful Bomb Pop, two Fudge Bars for Emerald, a caramel and hazelnut Big Dipper for Jaune, and the most boring regular ice cream sandwich for my sister. I know, ice cream before dinner, weren't we total delinquents.

I've gotta say, having ice cream with my friends from a mobile ice cream vendor in the middle of beautiful downtown Ottawa at the end of middle school is pretty awesome. Looking over the cliff onto the locks and over the river to the Civilization Museum, and funnelling terrible sugary snacks into our faces in the chill evening air, not much could be better. I tried to be as inappropriate as possible while eating my popsicle, making Em snicker and Jaune turn tomato-red at me, to my fair amusement. Because when you have a cylinder-shaped food in your hands, you _have_ to eat it in an inappropriate manner. It's a law of nature.

We went to leave, riding off towards the Embassy and the long staircase that led down to street level and to York street where we'd parked the car. Now, you'd safely assume that the smart course of action would have been to ride all the way around the Connaught building and ride back up Sussex North, but we'd decided to take the shortcut down the long staircase next to the silly statue at the U.S. Embassy and carry our bikes.

We bounced down the stairs, my seat slapping me in the middle of my back the whole way down and irritating me, but this was the price I had to pay to reduce the length of the ride and save my legs and lungs from the torture. I was sufficiently done riding at this point. I was good for the next, maybe _month_ of bicycle-related exercise.

Just before I reached the bottom, I heard a loud clattering from behind me of plastic hitting concrete. I turned around, to see Jaune padding his pockets with a concerned look on his face. I could see just behind him up a few steps was his Nokia, sitting face-down on its buttons. I stopped, and pointed.

"Jaune, right there."

He looked where I was pointing. "Oh, thanks."

His body turned, one hand still holding his bike up, and he went to step up to grab his phone.

Yeah, remember when I said Jaune falls over a lot?

Well, he did. Again. His foot went for the next step in the staircase, but his toe missed and swung down, skipping a few steps as he fell forward. He went knee-first into the stairs, and didn't have any hands ready or available to catch himself. See, the other thing about Jaune's ability to end up on the ground was that all of his jeans had holes in the knees and left his soft, supple skin exposed to the air. And when his knee contacted the step, it contacted right on the edge and _dug_ in. The impact happened in slow-motion, and I barely had time to react as he fell.

"Jau-!"

"Ack!" he landed. "Fuck!"

Almost immediately he dropped his bike, which bounced all the way down the stairs to the bottom, landing in a pile next to Winter. He flipped over, pain and anguish on his face and his knee cupped in his hands.

"Ahh-!"

"Jaune?"

"My knee!" he winced. I placed my bike down sideways on the steps and approached.

"Are you okay?"

He lifted his hands away from his knee, which was bleeding. Quite profusely, in fact.

"Uh…"

"Holy shit." all the colour drained from my face as I dropped to my knees in front of him.

"I guess I'm not." there were tiny tears forming at the edges of his eyes. "Fuck."

I turned back down the stairs. "Winter! Jaune's cut his knee!"

I didn't really know what to do, so I grabbed my water bottle off my bike, which I had refilled at the water fountain at Major's Hill, and doused his knee. I had to explicitly try not to look directly at the cut, as the wound was about two inches wide and quite deep. Jaune winced as I did my best to clean the cut, sucking air in through his teeth.

"Ow, stop-"

"It's gonna get infected, stop squirming."

Winter kneeled down next to me, and handed me the first aid kit that she usually kept under the seat on her bike. Inside the little pouch was a bunch of different sizes of Band-Aid, some tweezers, some wipes, and most importantly, a little bottle of rubbing alcohol. That's what I grabbed, popping the safety cap off and quickly pouring some of it into the wound.

Jaune yelled.

"AAAAH! OW!"

"Calm down, this is for your benefit."

"It _burns!"_

"The pain means it's working, sweetheart." Winter comforted, gently caressing his cheek.

I dug through the bag again for a Band-Aid big enough to cover it, but unfortunately nothing was. I had to think quickly. The pouch _did_ have pre-soaked wipes, and had there been a roll of gauze, that would have been an easy solution. The closest thing I had to gauze was, however…

"Wait, what are you doing?" he asked, his voice rapt with a bit of tears. I didn't blame him though, the cut was substantial.

"Just trust me."

I yanked off my shoe, and pulled my sock off. I quickly opened two of the wipes and put them onto his knee, which he yelped at quite loudly. I wrapped the sock over the two wipes and around the back of his knee to hold them in place.

"Hold this." I commanded. He did, confused.

I grabbed my sneaker and very deftly stripped it of its laces, and used the laces to bind the sock to his leg, tying it tight enough to keep the wipes in place. Jaune's face twisted as I cranked the knots down.

"There, how's that?"

"It hurts."

"Yeah, but it's clean and protected, eh?"

"It still hurts."

I rolled my eyes at him. "D'you want me to kiss it better?"

He flushed. "No!"

I bent my face down and gently smooched my own sock on his knee. He sputtered, his face going red.

"There, does it feel better now?"

"Sure." he forced out, probably to get me to stop touching his painful leg. See, now _he_ knew what it was like to hurt your leg and feel helpless.

I slowly got up, helping him to his feet and tying to keep him balanced on one foot.

"You're fine, you're fine." I offered, guiding him down the last seven or so steps to street level. Our car was not that far off, and leaving him to hop his way back to it would be fine enough. I dashed back up to my bike, collecting it and bouncing my way back down to everyone else. "C'mon, can you make it back to the car by yourself?"

He put some weight on his leg, wincing a little. "Yeah, I should be fine. Ack, I'm so clumsy."

I giggled at him, poking him in the side, receiving a squawk in response. "Yeah you are."

We hobbled him the half-block up York street to our car, parked in the middle aisles of the road, him limping like a fool. The sock and wipes were starting to turn a little pink as his very life essence seeped through them. From my memory, it wasn't as serious as it looked, I don't remember him needing stitches for it or anything. My skills with a sock and lace were enough. Although walking with a completely loose sneaker was pretty wild though, my shoe being more like a busted flip flop on my foot. This was one of those time you realize 'yeah, my feet sweat, I'm sliding around in my shoe, gross', But I only had to deal with it for a short while longer.

"I'll get your bike, you go ahead and get in the car." I took the handlebars from him and shoo'd him towards the wagon.

"Thanks." he limped over to it, opening the driver's side rear door and falling in onto the wide bench with a pained gasp.

"Don't hurt yourself again, dummy."

"I'm tryin', I'm tryin'!"

"What, to hurt yourself, or to _not_ hurt yourself?"

He stuck his head out the door and stuck his tongue out at me, before slamming his door shut with a heavy _thud_ of American steel. Rude. I turned to Emmy, raising the Catalina's electric rear window and lowering the tailgate down into the floor to load the bikes. I think one of the best parts of my sister's car is that we could fit all four of our bikes in the back without putting the back seats down. There was just that much room in the back of the old station wagon.

"I see what you just did, Weiss." Em whispered at me as I flipped her bike up on top of mine and my sister's. "You think you're sneaky, but you can't fool me."

I didn't meet her eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"That thing with Jaune, you sly dog."

"What did I do?"

She started through her eyebrows at me. "With his knee? And your lips?"

"Winter used to do it to me all the time, it's fine."

"Yeah, when you were a kid. Jaune's not a kid. And you _know_ you didn't do it for the same reasons she did."

"Shut up, Emerald. What do you know?"

"Subtext."

I smacked her on the shoulder, but her evil grin never wavered. I slammed the tailgate up with a loud crash, twisting the switch on the latch and raising the electric rear window again, the glass squealing in its tracks the whole way up.

"There's no subtext, just me caring about my friend."

"You like him."

"Nuh uh."

"Don't lie to me, Weiss."

"I'm not lying!"

"You like him. And you know it."

I huffed, and marched my way around the passenger side of the car. "No I don't, and this conversation ends here."

"Sure, sure. Also, shotgun."

"Aw, fuck you."

She laughed deviously as she moved around me, hopping into the front passenger seat, condemning me to the back seat. With Jaune. As I sat down behind her, she swung her head around and winked at me, gesturing her eyes at Jaune for a second. Bitch. Winter hadn't noticed any of this, starting the old car with a hearty rumble from the brand-new aftermarket exhaust. I took it upon myself to readjust my glasses with my middle finger pointed at Em, who just chuckled and turned around.

"So, dinner time?" Winter proposed, immediately grabbing all of our attentions. "What do you guys want?"

"McDonald's!"

"Wendy's!"

"Thai Express!"

She just kind of paused a second, turning her head slowly with an exasperated expression on her face.

"Could the three of you come up with a concise answer, or is this the next rendition of the Three Stooges?"

"Sorry, Winter."

"I still want McDonald's."

"I could go for a box of nugs."

She rolled her eyes at us. "Then that's where we're going. God, you guys are like children sometimes."

"What do you mean ' _sometimes'_?"

"Ah, I love you guys."

"I just want some ice for my knee." Jaune quipped, keeping mostly out of it.

I got him an ice pack from the cooler, wrapping it in my other sock and handing it over, only to receive another sly glance from Loser in the front seat.

She was wrong, I tell you.

Wrong!

I was not hopelessly in love with him, what did she know!

I was only fourteen, nowhere near the age when children become impressionable and start discovering sexuality and romance.

It must have been her imagination.

Anyways, I had more important things on my mind.

Like a box of Nuggets.

Certainly not Jaune.


	14. Chapter 14

_Part 2: The High School Chronicles_

 **Chapter 14**

 _October 24th, 2002_

"You don't seem to be handling this well."

"Yeah, no fucking shit, what did you expect?"

"C'mon, you can-"

"It's been a month and a half and he's already forgotten about us, tramping off with Captain Butt-slut and her harem."

"Okay, that's-"

"Like, out of _nowhere,_ she comes up to him and demands attention! Like who the fuck does that! After all the stuff we've done together, he goes off and abandons us. Like what the fuck. I've never abandoned _you_ for someone else, have I?"

"Well, no, but he's not abandoning y-"

"She's _literally_ the worst. How can he not see that. We're his real friends, she just wants him for herself, what a fucking bitch."

Em blinked slowly at me.

"Gosh, tell me how you really feel."

"Like, have you _seen_ how many guys she's banged? She's gotta be a complete _swimming_ pool of STD's and cold sores at this point. Goddamn village bicycle."

"Wow, that's obscene."

"I'm so _angry."_

"Weiss, it's fine. You haven't been abandoned."

"Yeah? Then explain where the fuck Jaune is."

Emmy put her face in her hands, nearly jabbing herself in the eye with her pencil. Lucky for us, the library was quiet at lunch time, since I was making quite a lot of a scene.

"Can you please stop."

"No. I hate that girl, and I hate Jaune for leaving us for her."

"He _just_ said that he was asked to have lunch with her, come _on,_ Weiss. Don't fuckin' overreact so much. Besides, they could be talking about something to do with Port's class, seeing as that's the _only_ one we don't have with him, c'mon."

"I can bet you a thousand dollars that they're doing something that's not studying."

"What, like fucking?" she joked. How dare she. "I highly doubt that."

I pouted and slammed my textbook shut and threw it at the table.

"They could be."

"They're not! You freaking little psycho!"

"I'm not a psycho, _she_ is! She took Jaune away from us and that's unforgivable. She's a slut, he shouldn't be hanging out with her anyways."

Emmy just chuckled at me. I seethed back.

"Fuckin ' _Captain Butt-Slut',_ you maniac."

"It's true!" I yelled. And received a shushing from the librarian. So I gave her the Evil Eye.

Perhaps I should explain my actions. In the last little while, our beloved friend Jaune had accidentally by no known effort of his own caught the attention of a girl in our grade. By the name of Blair, who I didn't like. She had history class with Jaune, and unfortunately that meant she had seventy minutes of uninterrupted contact with him, and due to his unfortunately stupid and charming attitude towards _everyone,_ she'd decided she wanted to give him a shot. And since he couldn't ever say no to anyone…

...He'd found himself a girlfriend.

"I'm so frustrated."

"Honey, you're being stupid."

"Why doesn't he come to the library with us?! Doesn't he care anymore?"

"I'm sure he cares, dumbass. Besides, I don't mind that _my_ boyfriend doesn't spend every waking second with me, and I'm perfectly comfortable not spending lunch hour with him."

I lolled my head back over the arm of the couch and glared at her upside down.

"Number one, you don't have a boyfriend, and number two, Jaune's not my _boy_ friend, he's my _best_ friend. The constituents of being as such include coming to the library every day and hanging out! Like you do!"

"Excuse you, Andrew is _absolutely_ my boyfriend."

"When was the last time you went on a date with him, Loser."

"Well… what do you classify as a date?"

"I 'unno, dinner and a movie? Romantic walk in the park?"

I watched a sly smile cross her face. Her mind was always formulating, and I was literally never prepared for it.

"Uh huh, didn't _you_ do exactly that with Jaune last Sunday?"

My face went red. I struggled to roll over and sputtered out a response.

"Yeah, but…. that's different!"

"Explain." She glared back over the top of her notebook.

"It is! We all do that, don't we? I've taken you to the movies, haven't I?"

Em picked up her travel mug and took a sip of coffee. Still can't believe she can tolerate the taste of black coffee, but to each her own.

"Can't help but notice you always take Jaune places _without_ your sister, though. Just sayin'."

"Yeah, well…" I sputtered for a moment. "I bet Andrew hasn't even asked you out yet!"

She _glared_ at me over the top of her cup. "He will. Soon enough."

"Oh, so you guys aren't even _dating?!_ And you have the gall to question me?!"

"Look, I bet they haven't even held hands, dumbass. You're making a big deal out of nothing."

"Don't change the subject!"

"No, _you_ don't change the subject! Their 'relationship' is barely started, you don't have to go all Spanish Inquisition because she bothered to ask him to expend a little bit of his attention on her! And if you're so upset about it, tell me why _you_ never asked him out!"

"This isn't about me wanting to _date_ him, that's gross!"

Emmy crossed her arms at me. "Really? Because it kinda seems that way."

"He's my best friend, and that cunt muffin thinks she can take him away from me, and that's not okay. I'm not having that. Jaune belongs _here_ at _my_ side, letting _me_ bother him and letting _me_ take all of his attention. Not some slut from history class."

I paused to seeth for a moment. Jaune having a girlfriend was not okay. That meant he would be spending less time with me, his _best_ friend. And how Emmy couldn't understand this, I would never know. Jaune didn't deserve the pain and suffering that dating entailed. The heartbreak, the sorrow. He deserved the calm, bubbly friendship that came with hanging out with _me,_ goddamnit! I'd have this bitch's head if it wasn't against school policy to attack your schoolmates.

"Wow you're… really bent out of shape about this, aren't you?"

"Seven years, Emerald. I've known him for _seven years._ That's half of our lives. She's known him for a month and a half and thinks she has claim to him? Bull _shit."_

"He's not abandoning you. Look, I'll call him."

"Em, don't-" I reached over the arm of the couch and swatted her phone out of her hand and into her lap. "I'll talk to him later."

"But why? You seem upset by this _now._ Why not deal with it now?"

I slung my arm over my eyes, darkening the world to me.

"Because I don't wanna go talk to Blair, she's mean."

"Pfft, no she's not. At least, not compared to the verbal mutilation you seem so fuckin' fond of."

"I'm angry. Let me have this."

"What if I go with you? Provide some moral support?"

"I'd be afraid you'd get caught in the crossfire."

She chuckled. The _nerve._

"What, are you planning some kind of old-timey gunfight with six-shooters or something? Bit of banjo music too?"

"Take this seriously, Emerald."

" _You_ take this seriously. You're overreacting."

"I'm not."

"Tell ya what. Give it a week. See how this develops. If it turns out she's after ill-gotten gains, then you may throw down. Until then, don't fuckin' assume shit like they're eloping, you crazy person."

"Yeah, but by Friday they _could_ be."

"I guarantee Jaune isn't the kind of guy to to that."

"It could happen. She's a snake, Emerald. And she's got him all coiled up in her greasy body."

"You're a fuckin' maniac."

"Bite me."

/.../

So I let a week go by. It was hard, but I managed. Watching that lecherous girl fawn over him from afar. But by Wednesday, I started to realize that I might be overthinking things. I was far too harsh for what it was worth. I should be happy. Jaune's always had a hard time making friends, especially with that adorable Parisian accent and his highlighter-bright blond hair. Kinda sticks out. Makes social interaction hard. I had started to notice that my suspicions of Blair actions weren't exactly unfounded, with the way she would stare at him from the end of the hall, the way she'd brush her hair behind her ear and look at the ground whenever he'd say hi to Her. I unfortunately had a front row seat to all of this, as I still made an effort to see and talk to Jaune between classes.

Emmy had promised to run reconnaissance for me, using her supreme powers of communication and the knowledge of what's 'cool' to infiltrate any and all social circles and cliques within the school, and had discovered the depth and density of Blair's infatuation with my best friend. According to Blair's version of Emmy, she was determined to have him ask her on a date for the weekend, but not anything super serious like to a wedding or for a stroll down the Champs-Élysées or anything extravagant like that. She'd planned no more than a bike ride around Barrhaven, a trip that by my calculations would be no more than an hour and a half. Besides, biking wasn't a date. Jaune and I had gone biking together twice a week like clockwork basically for the last four years. We'd even done the Butch Cassidy scene together in a field near Jaune's place. So you can't fool me into thinking that Bicycle rides are dates.

So by the time Friday lunch period rolled around, I had backed myself into a corner of concern and trepidation, all with a sense of guilt that I was being too mean for mine and anyone else's sake. Well, I had only myself to blame. There was nothing wrong with this poor girl, she was just infatuated. I don't blame her anymore. If anything, it was Jaune's fault for being so damn interesting.

"I'm distraught." I said, sipping my juice box hard enough to collapse it.

"You are always distraught." Emmy flippantly ignored me, skimming through her book as we sat in the noisy cafeteria. "You need to lighten up."

"But what if they _are_ sneaking off to make out? Then what, Emerald? Then what?"

"Then you can say 'I told you so', but my intel says they aren't and I trust my intel."

"Maybe I should confront her. Get closure."

"Maybe, or maybe you should finish your lunch. We have a presentation to finish."

See, this is the point I saw Jaune and Blair enter the cafeteria. Together. Holding _hands._ This… was an interesting development. But not interesting like the dynamics of falling celestial bodies or like a cool snake in the grass. This was interesting like finding out you'd been betrayed by friendly forces is interesting. Like watching a sand castle you'd spent and entire day constructing get consumed by the sea is interesting. Like how when you spend seven years worming your way into what you thought was the perfect friendship to suddenly realize you were as disposable as a used napkin is interesting.

And wouldn't you know it, that boy was pink in the face.

"Maybe I should confront _him."_

"Yeah, maybe you should." Emmy finished slowly, eyeing them up and down with disdain.

My glare followed them across the lunch room to the far side, next to the array of windows onto the soccer field. The worst part I could notice from this was the lack of even a _passing_ glance over to myself and Emerald. No wave, no nod, _nothing._ They sat down together, her clique on one side and her and Jaune on the other, sitting uncomfortably close. I had to clench my hands into fists to stop from throwing something, which very nearly happened as I watched his _arm go around her back._

I stood with purpose, whacking the everloving _shit_ out of my knees on the underside of the table, and started to march over. Emmy, bless her, came around to my side of the table and stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

"Whoa, wait, slow down." Her calming tone did nothing of the sort.

"I must _speak_ to him." my voice came out shaky and slow.

"No, you must _use your head."_ She flicked my forehead. "I can go in first, mingle, figure out the situation. That's what I'm good at."

"But Em-"

"No buts. Besides, I`m a lot more intimidating than you." she did a little flex, slapping herself on the bicep like some kind of weightlifter. "People run in fear when the Iranian Queen is near."

This made me chuckle.

"I like how you still remember that."

"More importantly, I remember a time when Jaune would hang out with _us._ Let's go solve this, eh?"

"Right."

I straightened my stance and bushed passed Emmy, who pulled in behind me as we crossed the cafeteria. I had to control myself from sprinting over and tackling either one of them and making them beg for a mercy they would not receive. The worst part was that I could hear her weird, piercing hyena laugh all the way over as she no doubt was over emphasizing how funny something he'd said was. I strolled up behind them, carefully preparing a script to lay into them with. Which unfortunately flew out the window the instant I had to watch Blair do the 'elbow in the ribs' thing to him. I cleared my throat.

"Excuse me."

They both turned. To his credit, Jaune seemed pleased to see me.

"Oh, hey Wei-"

"Jaune, shut up." I cut him off, directing a completely fake smile at his companion. "Blair, hi, d'you… mind if I borrow Jaune for a second? I need to talk to him."

She returned what I can only assume was an equally fake smile. Bitch.

"Anything you want to say to my boyfriend, you can say to me too."

Ah, I see. So that was how it was. My eye twitched as I watched Jaune's face have the audacity to _flush._ I was gonna smack that stupid grin off his face if it was the last thing I do.

"You know what, you're right. I _do_ have something to say to you. Why don't we step out into the hall. Leave this boy alone for a minute."

"And why would I do that?"

God, I _hated_ her whiny voice. It was like a knife being pushed directly into my ear canal, coated in gasoline and burning. Every ounce of me wanted to tell this girl to shut her ugly mouth, but I resisted.

"Bit of girl talk. C'mon, chop chop." I said, snapping my fingers and pointing over my shoulder. " _Tout suite."_

Somehow, I don't even know, this got through to her, and she spun in place on her seat and got up, shrugging Jaune's arm off her. She diligently followed me out of the cafeteria and into the hallway, Em staying behind for a second to carefully explain that we'd 'just be a moment' and to not worry. I figured Jaune might worry anyways, as that's basically all he does with his spare time.

As soon as we rounded the corner behind the cafeteria I spun in place and came to a rather abrupt halt, making Blair almost run directly into me.

"D'you think it's fun, showing off like you do?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Galavanting around the school, your arms wrapped around Jaune. Do you think that's fun for everyone else?"

"The fuck does 'galavanting' even mean?"

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms.

" _Mein gott_ , _ich hasse_. It means to wander about seeking pleasure and entertainment. And you'd know this if you spent even a fraction of your time reading a book instead of messing around with every guy you see."

This is the point Em stepped in.

"Hey, hey. Lay off. Be nice, you said you would."

I sighed. "Right, of course. Sorry, you've just gotten on my bad side."

"Why?" Blair sneered at me. "Because I'm showing affection to my _boyfriend?_ And he want to show affection to _me,_ his _girlfriend?"_

Her pointed use of inflection had grated too far into me. She was very clearly shoving it in my face, and _fuck_ it hurt.

"You're not his girlfriend. You barely know him."

"And you're saying you are? And you do?"

"I could do a lot fucking better than you could."

"Yeah?" she taunted. I resisted the urge to punch. "Well that's too bad, because I got to him first. I didn't realize you could get so jealous, for a Kraut."

Oh, that had done it. I twitched again.

"Excuse me?"

"So why don't you and your little Packie girlfriend wander off and leave me and my Jauney alone now?"

"See, I knew I had a reason to hate you, Blair. Emmy said it was unfair to judge a book by its cover. Well, looky here, the cover says 'bitch' on it."

"You're just jealous." she sneered at me. I could _feel_ the snark in the way she held her body. "You should go back to the little foxhole you crawled out of this morning. I have important things to do with my _boyfriend_ now. So shoo."

"You don't even know a damn thing about him. What's his last name."

"I'm sure I'll find out. Run along."

"What's his favourite album? What's his dog's name? Where did he go to elementary school? What's his favourite video game? What do you _actually_ know about him, and are you prepared to admit you're only doing this to get a rise out of people? Do you actually know anything about any of the people you associate with, or are you just a facade for mummy and daddy to show off at cocktail parties like some kind of prized cow?"

She gasped. _Em_ gasped. _I_ gasped. Had I really just said that? By the look on her face, indeed I had.

"You don't even know anything about me! How _dare_ you!"

"You're right, I don't. But you don't know anything about Jaune, so that puts us on a level playing field." I tried to keep all the venom out of my voice and stay on message, but Blair was intent on making a scene. "You know, if you hadn't been so repulsive in the way you act, I'm sure we could have even been friends."

"I'd never be friends with someone like _you."_

"I take that back. Perhaps I'll tell Jaune about your escapades from last year. Because I'm sure he'll be happy to hear about what his _girlfriend_ gets up to when her _boyfriend_ is otherwise indisposed."

"What does that even-"

"Do the names Alejandro and Giuseppe De Luca mean anything to you?"

Her face went sheet white. _Good._ Give in to your hate.

"How would you even know about that?!"

"I have friends on the inside. Now, if Jaune knew that you're like that, dishonest, untrustworthy, two-timing. I'm not sure he'd want to be with you."

"That was a long time ago-"

"That was in April." I paused. "You're not good enough for him."

She was on the verge of tears. Well, so was I, actually, I just hid it better.

"And you are?! You little German bitch-"

she went to move forward at me, an accusatory finger directed straight at my face. Before it had a chance to contact, Emerald had already come around between us and slapped the hand down, stopping Blair from advancing with a well placed hand on her chest.

"Hey, whoa, both of you, _stop_!"

"Don't touch me with your dirty hands!"

I sneered at Blair, ready to whip into her with as much as I had.

"At least I don't have to resort to placing the privileged girl card."

"Yeah? At least I don't have to use blackmail to get my way!"

"At least-"

"Both of you _shut the fuck up!"_ Emmy commanded, pushing Blair back by her boob, maintaining a fairly protective stance in front of me. Blair advanced again, like a viper ready to strike.

"How _dare_ you touch me, you-"

" _Don't."_ Emmy lashed, with a pointed finger, stopping the girl dead in her tracks. "I've had about enough of this shit. You've already used two race cards, pray you don't use a third. I suddenly understand why Weiss doesn't like you. You're a bad influence for her best friend, _and_ you're just a plain old bad person. But honestly? I could literally not care less what you do with your free time. Just as long as you don't act like a thundercunt around my friend. _Got it?"_

"I don't have to listen to someone like _you."_

There was actual fire in Emerald's eyes as she slowly straightened her back. Now, by current standards, she's not particularly a tall girl, but being a lofty five-foot seven in _ninth_ grade made her an absolute _beast_ compared to the rest of us. So suffice to say, Blair shrunk down into herself.

"Oh, I think you _do._ You need to change your attitude, and you need to change it _fast._ Or I'll be forced to intervene again. And do you really want someone _like me_ doing that? Huh?"

I don't think Blair had ever been disciplined before, judging by the way she seemed to tear up and go red in the face.

"Now, you're gonna keep on doing what you're doing, and Weiss and I will judge your actions towards _our_ best friend from afar. If you even slip up _once,_ we're going to make life absolutely _hell_ for you, do you understand? I love this boy like my own brother, and I'm sure Weiss feels the same way. If you even hurt a _hair_ on that pretty blond head, you're going so far down you won't even be able to decipher which way's up again."

I was starstruck. Never before had I seen Emerald act so defensively for someone else. This was completely new for me. Where was the snarky, aggressive recluse who only ever hung out with me in our sulking corner? Well, actually, where the aggressive part was was pretty obvious. It was busy tearing a strip into this poor girl.

"Now, step one. Change you fuckin' attitude. Man up. Don't hide behind slang and prejudice _ever again._ Because God knows Jaune don't like a racist. Ask Zack Marchand for proof of that."

For reference, that was the fool who's face Jaune had rearranged last september.

"We're gonna let you have this, but _only_ if you can prove yourself good enough. No, actually, we won't settle for _good enough,_ you'll have to be the best girlfriend Jaune's ever seen. And if you're not…"

A simple tilt of the head was all it took for Blair to wince back in horror.

"Now, beat it."

And she did, turning around and strutting back to the cafeteria to no doubt tattle on us to Jaune, and make us look like the two worst villains for picking on the pretty little rich girl. As soon as she had rounded the corner, Emmy turned to me, placed both hands on my shoulders, and glared into my face.

"What?"

" _You_ need to work on your anger. That escalated _far_ quicker than it needed to. You _didn't_ have to bring up the De Luca twins incident. Although, at the time, it was funny, it's not funny _now._ Because _now_ it's just blackmail potential, and we're above that, right?"

I sniffled, wiping my nose on my sleeve.

"Mmm."

" _Right?"_ she squeezed on my shoulder.

"Yes, alright. We're above that."

"If we're really concerned, we can go to Ines and Francois. Let's make sure it doesn't have to come to that, because you and I _both_ know that when your parents tell you not to do something, that's when you do it even more intensely, _especially_ when it comes to dating."

"Yeah, yeah. Hopefully Jaune has more respect for his parents than that, though."

"I was hoping he'd have more respect for _us,_ if I'm honest."

"I can't believe you're letting her get away with this."

"I'm not _quite_. Remember, I'm your friend on the inside. Getting information is what I'm good at. But I'm also good at _spreading_ it."

"Huh."

"I'm intrinsically believable. Unlike your new best friend's chest, I might add."

I blinked twice at her.

"Excuse me, what?"

Em looked down at the hand she'd used to stop Blair. "Yeah, I got a handful of those a second ago, and let me tell you, they're basically entirely toilet paper."

"No way."

"Very way. That figure is a lie, and now she knows that _I_ know. I don't want to put this image in your head, but if their relationship moves up a few levels, Jaune's in for a nasty surprise."

"Wow, that's rude."

"And what you just did to her isn't?"

"... touche."

"Look, we're gonna work through this. Without blackmail, okay."

I nodded.

"Alright, fine. But the De Luca thing is really abhorrent."

"Ugh, yes, I know. But let's not."

"Seriously! I watched her tongue-punch Gio on the second floor, followed her down a flight of stairs and watched immediately play tonsil hockey with Ally!"

Em laughed.

"Right, and as slutty as that is, we're not gonna get into it. We're gonna let things play out, and we will make our observations and act as necessary."

"Ugh, I just don't want her getting her gross lips all over his face."

"And we're not gonna let her. _I_ certainly don't want to follow that, and I'm sure you feel the same way. She's not right for him." She lightly caressed my cheek with a soft clap. "But we want _him_ to figure that out."

"No, I understand that, but you've seen Jaune around girls. He's _really_ stupid."

"Only when it comes to you, it seems. He'll come around. Besides, I'm pretty sure he's not gonna be kissing her any time soon. She smells like half a pack of menthols."

"Oh, they're gonna break up. Jaune _hates_ people who smoke."

"We'll see."

"I certainly hope so."

At this moment we were rudely interrupted by a particular boy coming around the corner at us, nearly knocking Em into me. She turned, prepared to give him a piece of her mind, only to fluster and babble her way through her thoughts as she went pink in the face. It was Andrew, as it turned out. Suddenly I realized why Emmy wanted so bad for him to be her boyfriend. His mysterious good looks, his perfect, sweeping brown hair, his perfectly ironed cardigan.

"Oh, hey Andrew." she tried to sound composed. I wasn't buying it. "How's it going?"

He swished his hair at her, those piercing green eyes darting over to her. She maintained a very convincing honest smile for as long as she needed to.

"Oh, hey." came out like a soft flutter of feathers as he continued on, not bothering to stop walking, and disappeared around the corner like mist.

Emmy slumped as he left earshot.

"That was Andrew?"

"Uh huh."

"And who was that girl under his arm?"

She sighed. "His girlfriend. Erica."

"Man, high school fucking sucks, doesn't it?"

"I hate this place and everyone in it."

I shrugged.

"Well, if all else fails, we have each other."

"That we do, Weiss. That we do."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

 _January 31st, 2003_

The day of the show. They'd been preparing all month long. _I'd_ been preparing all month long. I'll be honest, I was never one of the drama kids, I never had any interest in being in a stage production, especially not as a freshman. That was just too much meddling in powers above my own. So I mostly stayed away from the theatre kids. They were scary.

Except for one.

Jaune.

He was a _big_ theatre nerd. He had wanted to be in productions since sixth grade when our elementary school did a rendition of the musical Doo Wop Wed Widing hood. Jaune had been cast as Loud Prince Frank, meaning he got to be the star of the damn show that go around. And somehow this latent talent he had stored up in his veins meant he could land just about any role he wanted, including one of the _four_ male actors in the grade eight production of Hoodie a year ago. Suffice to say, the theatre department liked this particular freshman. Jaune was popular.

Although I kinda feel like his casting as Seymour in this year's production of Little Shop was a little harsh. They knew they needed someone with Jaune's acting talents and stage presence to play the lead role. But I'm certain that he would have been more suited to play Orin the dentist, as he had this flamboyance that I knew Jaune could do better than the timid and nerdy florist. It felt to me like they look at Jaune, as a freshman, and decided to lump that role on him as some kind of trial by fire to see if he was worthy enough to play more interesting roles in the future. Well, that or the fact that Orin was already cast as this senior named Jeremy, who stood a full foot and a half taller than Jaune.

So we weren't going to contest it.

I knew Jaune was gonna be great in the role anyway. He's a great actor. And in his kinda-too-big cardigan costume and little bowtie, he definitely _looked_ the part. He's damn adorable. I don't think he could really pull off the look of Orin with how skinny and short he was. I mean by the time he reached grade twelve, yeah for sure. But not in ninth grade.

Somehow the two of us, Emmy and I, had wound ourselves into the musical as well, myself in the pit band and Em in the production crew. The pit band was hand-picked by the music teacher, the venerable Mr. Gee, specifically for this production. It was mostly seniors from the jazz band, but they needed a trumpet player since whatsername in grade eleven decided she was better than this production and dropped it like a sack of potatoes, so I was drafted in her place. I was happy with this, 'cause it meant that someone _finally_ recognized my playing skills. I held first trumpet in both concert and jazz band, so _obviously_ I was the best choice. Duh.

Em had recently started getting interested in makeup on like a spiritual level, getting quite serious with her hundreds of dollars of makeup kits and products, to the point where she had started uploading tutorials on her Xanga profile for anyone to read and follow, and if I remember correctly, she had something like two thousand followers who religiously commented and liked her posts. I'd had a look at her blog a few times when Winter had let me take a browse on her AOL account. It was pretty good if I was honest, I'm not that into it. But it had clearly caught the eye of our drama teacher who nearly _demanded_ that she join the production crew for hair and makeup. I'm so proud of that girl sometimes. Even if her rich ass dad was able to buy her expensive internet time.

I pushed my way into the drama classroom, trumpet case in hand, my uniform under my arm. The room was full of theatre students hanging around half in their costumes, looking all in that border region between extatic and frightened. Fair play to them, tonight was the night of the big show, when their parents could all come and watch their children up on stage. I knew Jaune's parents would be in attendance, and that they'd be in the front row. Because nobody argued with them.

I pushed past a few of the other students to find Emmy and Jaune in a very precarious position. She was sitting in his lap on a chair, him facing a large lighted mirror and her facing him with her legs wrapped tightly around the back of the chair, pinning his arms in. His face looked like an oil painting, and she was going absolutely wild on it with a concealer brush. I paused a moment, concerned.

"Hey guys, what's uh, what's going on?" I asked, setting my trumpet down slowly.

"This fucker ain't sitting still, Weiss."

"Oh no, eh?"

"Yup."

She had her hat off, for once, sitting on the counter facing out. The polished brass wings were shining brightly and being kept a fair distance away from any chemical or compound that might tarnish their finish. Emmy was protective of her hat. I picked it up and put it on, noticing it was a little loose on my head, and sat down in the chair next to the two of them.

"He being a squirming little shit as usual?"

"You know it. This was the only position I could get him in where he would sit the fuck still."

"Please help me, Weiss." Jaune asked, his body locked in place by Em's aggressive seated position. "I have to pee and she won't let me get up."

"You may get up when I'm done, jag-off."

"And how long is that going to be?"

"Eh, 'nother forty five minutes, probably."

"Oh, god."

I chuckled at their little exchange. I could see that he was sweating, and that the extra pressure of a girl in his lap wasn't doing his child's bladder any favours.

"Emmy, maybe let him get up. Just for a minute. You can go back to torturing when he comes back."

She looked at me with a sly smile.

"No, you and I both know he's not going to. He's just going to bolt."

"Well, yeah, but you're the _only_ makeup artist for the whole production, who the heck else is he going to go to?"

She grumbled.

"Okay, fair." she turned back to him. "Promise to come back?"

"I plead the fifth."

She squeezed, bringing her face near to his, glaring into his eyes. Gosh, she even scared _me_ from this angle.

"Jaune."

"Okay, okay, I promise." he relented, scared out of his boots.

She slung her legs off of him and got up, leaning back against the counter and lifting the hat off my head and placed it on her own. I pouted as my head got suddenly cold. Jaune, true to Emmy's word, bolted from the room in a flurry of legs and half of his costume. She sighed and flippantly turned around and sat back down in the chair he'd just vacated. I popped my case open and pulled out my trumpet, laying it on my legs.

"Sorry, but so you _have_ to sit in his lap?"

She shrugged. "He'll never know the touch of a woman otherwise."

"Fuckin' _gross_ , Em."

She chuckled. " _What,_ I'm just sayin'. That guy needs to unwind and cool off. He's so stressed out over nothing."

"Well, he's going up on stage in front of his parents. Fuckin', _I'd_ be nervous in front of Jaune's parents, they're scary. I don't blame him."

"Probably doesn't help that he had a hot chick sitting in his lap for the past half hour."

"Holy shit, you've been doing this for half an hour?!"

"Fucker squirms! It can't be helped, he's like a little worm."

I smiled, leaning back in the low-backed plastic chair.

"This reminds me of Halloween when we were, what, nine? When you were trying to sew up his shirt with him still in it?"

"Ugh, fuck, don't remind me."

"What was it you called him? A monkey?"

"I 'unno, probably. He had it coming, he wouldn't sit still."

"You _were_ stabbing him with a sewing needle."

"Pff-yeah, then you swooped in and swooned all over him from what I remember."

My face went red.

"Well… uh.. yeah, I was being nice. What's your problem?"

She rolled her eyes at me, kicking her legs under her chair. Jaune returned a moment later, his face plastered with relief. Em stood up and gestured to the chair for him. He seemed hesitant. My goodness, did Emerald roll her eyes a lot. Especially at Jaune.

"Fuck's sake, _siddown_."

He did, leaving his hands on the arms of the chair.

"Arms at your sides."

"No."

" _Now."_

His arms fell down to his hips and off the arms of the chair. She gave him a pleasant and very fake smile, and slung her legs back around his body, once again locking him in place. He sighed, dejected and defeated. It always amazed me how much control Emerald had over boys, Jaune in particular. Him and I always got along reasonably well, coexisting and playing off each other so casually. But with Em, he was so obedient and submissive. Man, I wish I incited as much fear in men as Em did. I could have been so powerful. I could have ruled the damn world. I really don't know why Emmy never tried to, she'd have been so successful.

"Right. Weiss, hand me the concealer, will ya?"

I reached over to the counter and picked up the literal _bucket_ of concealer and handed to Em, watching her pop it open with one hand and scoop out a generous handful of the pinkish cream and splatter it onto his face, little regard for any of the orifices it might end up in.

"That seems a _little_ much…"

"Have you _seen_ how pasty white this boy is? The floodlights are gonna reflect off him like mirrors if I don't. Do you _want_ him to glow in the light?"

"Well…"

"Oh, right, he already does glow for you."

"Hey!"

"Don't deny it, Schnee."

I crossed my arms and spun in a circle in the chair. She didn't know a damn thing about me. I decided to distract them both.

"Hey, Jaune, I heard you got dumped by Blair."

He laughed, immediately coughing on a bunch of concealer.

"Well, that's what _she_ wants you to think."

"What happened?"

"She tried to kiss me."

My heart dropped past my stomach and directly into my hips.

"Wh-what? What did you do?"

"Her mouth smelled like an ashtray. And apparently it _offended_ her when I turned away and asked her not to."

Oh thank _fuck._

"What did _she_ do?"

"Scoffed and told me to fuck myself and left. Hasn't spoken to me since."

"This was like two months ago, Weiss, get with the program." Em interjected.

"Hey, I was just trying to give the guy some privacy. I don't know what the statute of limitations on making fun of someone for getting dumped is."

Emmy shrugged. "Usually like two minutes. Least, that's what I do."

"Yeah, but you're an asshole." Jaune retorted, trying to bite the tube of mascara out of her hands. He did not succeed.

"Fair point, blondie."

I wiped a bead of sweat off my brow in secret, pleased that that relationship hadn't lasted. We didn't like that bitch anyway, she could drop dead for all we cared. besides, who the hell smokes in ninth grade?

"You know, at this rate, he's never gonna kiss a girl." I pointed out, slinking down in my seat and crossing my legs.

Em stopped painting his face for a moment and looked down at him, a frown forming on her face. She tilted her head to the side.

"Yeah, you're right, he won't." she turned to me for a second. "We can always remedy that now, of course."

"Wait, wha-" he tried to move. He was too late.

She grabbed both sides of his face in her hands and leaned in. I watched his eyes go wide as the whole thing for him must have happened in slow motion. Em's face closed in on his, and with his arms pinned to his side by her thighs, there was nowhere for him to go. He was trapped as the much taller and stronger girl moved in for the kill. He panicked.

"No!" he wrenched his face away, scrunching up his eyes and attempting to break his own neck. "Nooo!"

I rolled my eyes and reached out, grabbing Emmy by the lips and pulling her back away from him. She laughed the whole way back as I separated the two. A second longer on my part and she'd have kissed him. Unfortunately for her, this would not have been okay with me, but I did an excellent job hiding my fear of this outcome.

"Em, don't pressure him like that."

"Heh, almost got him, though."

I faked a chuckle. "Yeah, almost. How about instead of being a sadist you wait for him to kiss you."

She pointed at me with a brush.

"See, _that_ would be gross. Only I can be forward, not him."

"God, fuckin', grow up. He's not a doll you can play with."

I received a wiggle of her eyebrows.

"Tonight, he is. And he needs to sit still."

"You're jabbing me in the _eye."_ he mumbled.

"Your eyes need to _pop,_ especially if we're putting them behind Rick Moranis-esque glasses. So that means you have to suffer the eyeliner for a little longer."

"How long 'till curtain?" I asked, fiddling with my trumpet's sticky valves.

Em shrugged, and reached for the pamphlet in her makeup case.

"Uh, not for another two hours."

"Are we eating before or after?"

"Wait for the wrap party, there's gonna be pizza."

You didn't have to tell _me_ twice. I could wait an eternity for a good pizza, I was a good little girl. I grabbed Em's hat again and put it on, slotting my mouthpiece into place.

"Hey, how come she gets to wear that and you said you'd slaughter me if I touched it?" Jaune complained, making a face at Em.

"Because _she_ understands how precious that hat is, and it makes her look good."

"But-"

"Touch my hat and die, Jaune."

I snickered at him, flicking the rim up.

"Hey, wait, you can't compliment me, I'm a girl! You are also a girl! That's forbidden, isn't it?"

"Weiss, just sit there and look pretty and shut up."

"Good thing lookin' pretty is all I'm good at, then." I said with a wink.

"Are you also good at shutting up?"

"Not especially. You just have to deal with my attitude, Em."

"Well, it's a good thing that that's what _I'm_ good at, or else _you'd_ be the one in the chair instead of Jaune."

"Why, gonna kiss me instead?"

She shrugged, putting lipstick on our squirming friend. "If it shuts you up, I'm prepared to do what I must."

I may or may not have flushed a little red.

"Are you flirting with me? After having just tried to kiss Jaune? God, you're worse than Blair."

"As far as I can recall, Blair only swung for one team."

"Well, pick a side, then!"

"Nah."

We were interrupted at this moment by the arrival of two more of the main actors in the show. Jeremy, the senior who was playing Orin, and Chris, the eleventh grader playing Mr. Mushnik. I'll be honest, I didn't much care for the two of them. Jeremy was self-centred and brash, who thought himself above the other plebeian actors and rarely showed up to rehearsal because it was a waste of his time, using his beauty like a knife to get what he wanted in any department. And Chris was just a straight-up asshole.

"Hey, Sasha!" he yelled into the room. No one responded.

"Dude, I don't think she's here."

"Fuck!" he stomped his foot like a child, then starter moving over to our position. "You. Callboy. Where's Sasha?"

We ignored him, thinking he was talking to someone else. We were wrong. He reached over the top of Jaune's head and tapped Emerald on the bottom of her chin to grab her attention. Uh, yeah, you can imagine, _big mistake._

"Hey, callboy, I'm talking to you. Where's Sasha?"

She just blinked at him a few time. But with each reopening of her eyes, more and more of the red mist descended through her vision. Her face twisted as she slowly got off of Jaune's lap and set her brush down. And seeing as she put it down with the click- _clack_ of each end of the brush's steel barrel, I knew to keep my mouth shut and just watch the proceedings.

"Don't fuckin' touch me, you fuckin' second string, I'm not a fuckin' callboy."

"Cool, I don't care, just tell me where Sasha is."

"I don't fuckin' know, I'm not your goddamn secretary, you fuckin' keep an eye on her, she's your stupid girlfriend."

She was _livid._ Nobody was allowed to put hands on Emmy unless they were expressly invited to, so this flippant act of gaining her attention also served to gain her ire.

"Then call someone, I don't care. I need to know where she is, don't act like a bitch."

"Don't _ever_ touch me again, it's not my problem that you don't know where she is, asswipe. Go find somewhere else to have your little circle jerk."

He elbowed Jeremy in the ribs, making a snide gesture at her.

"The fuckin' lip on this freshman, eh? Can't believe it."

"Listen, dipshit, this is hair and makeup. Sasha was already through here an hour ago, and once she's out of my chair, she's not my fucking problem anymore. Now, if you so desire, we can do a little test on how much concealer it takes to cover a black eye."

"Hey, don't threaten me, freshman."

Emmy stood up to her full height, which as it turned out was about three inches taller than Chris, who's short and plump stature was doing him no favours with the girl who towered over him. And with her black _Stage Crew_ t-shirt sleeves rolled up and the lights of the makeup mirrors lit up behind her, she must have seemed unbelievably frightening to even the other seniors in the room.

"Your girlfriend. Your problem. Now, fuck off."

"Tsk…"

She slung her leg back over Jaune's lap and sat down again, resuming her position from earlier and maintaining her threatening eye contact.

"Remember to be back at your allotted time to get _your_ makeup done, Mushnik. Don't think Traci or I'll be _this_ nice to you, though."

She grabbed Jaune around the neck and pulled his face forward, directly into her chest. He made a noise somewhere in his throat as he panicked, unable to move or breathe, as it turned out. She let him go and let his back fall against the chair again, grabbing her brush once more. She broke eye contact and returned her face to the softness we were used to and continued to apply the copious amounts of face paint to poor Jaune.

Now, for a ninth grader, Emmy was… let's say _blessed_ with certain features that some of us hadn't developed or fully developed quite yet. I'm not gonna say like Salma Hayek _blessed,_ but for a fourteen year old, she was the envy of most of the other students in our grade, myself included. But also Sasha, the senior who was playing Audrey, the coworker of Jaune's Seymour. I remember Sasha being pretty, sure, but I always remember he looking like she was still in like, grade seven or eight. A middle schooler, infiltrating the high school ranks. So in comparison to the early-blooming Emmy, Sasha wasn't exactly lining up to win Miss Canada 2003.

This must have upset poor, defenseless Chris, who swore something under his breath and stormed out, leaving a chuckling Jeremy just shaking his head and following him out, careful to close the door softly as he left.

"Fuckin' asshole."

I bit my lip so as to not laugh at the proceedings. Jaune luckily spoke for me.

"Uhm, I'm not sure what to do with all that… stuff that just happened."

"Take it as a learning experience, Jaune. Being a pleasant human being means that everyone is accepting of you and treats you with respect. Like Weiss, for example. But being a loathsome piece of pond scum like Chris means nobody has to respect you."

"I'm… glad I'm not pond scum, I guess."

"Jaune, you're fine. Pucker for me?"

"You're not gonna try and kiss me again, are you?"

She chuckled, holding up a tube of pink lipstick.

"No, but I do need to put this on you so you actually have a mouth under the floods."

"Right."

As she was applying the lipstick, I popped my trumpet mouthpiece off and pressed it to my lips, buzzing out the opening theme to _The Muppet Show_ for a moment. Emmy looked sideways at me with an amused look in her eye. I grinned back and picked up my trumpet, sliding the mouthpiece in.

"Weiss, don-"

I played the little ' _It's time to put on makeup'_ part of the melody, adding in a few trills. Emmy rolled her eyes with a grin.

"Idiot."

"What, we were all thinking it."

"Yeah, and you _had_ to play it."

I just shrugged and continued with the melody, flaring out the lines of music with trills and added style. I eventually broke through Emmy's little wall and made her chuckle and drop her lipstick in between Jaune's legs. I stopped playing just before the Waldorf and Statler part.

"Why do we always come here?" I sang quietly, doing a gravely voiced Waldorf impression.

Jaune caught on quickly, dropping his throat and singing Statler's part. "I guess we'll never know."

"It's like a kind of torture," I continued, stopping and looking to Emmy. So did Jaune, his eye rife with anticipation.

She just looked at us like we were two idiots. I mean, yeah we were, but that wasn't the point _today._ She put her face into her hand and leaned her elbow on to the chair's armrest. We goaded her again, and I gestured for her to continue the lyric.

She just chuckled, raising an eyebrow.

"Really?"

I nodded, a doofy smile on my face. "Yeah, really."

She sighed dramatically into her hand and mumbled the lyric out. "To have to watch the show."

Jaune and I cheered quietly, and I brought my trumpet back up and continued the melody, firing away loudly with the recently re-tuned bronze bell. Emmy elected to ignore my musical talents and focus on Jaune's makeup, dabbing away the excess lipstick with a folded tissue. Just as I was about to finish the theme, however, I was interrupted.

"Hey!"

I lowered my instrument and turned to look. Mr. Gee was standing in the doorway, a look on his face.

"Don't play music in the drama room. That's what the music room is for."

"Sorry, Mr. Gee. Can I finish the lick, though?"

"No, don't practice in here, it scares the theatre nerds."

We all had a quiet chuckle.

"Sorry, sir."

"Go find the pit band, I'm sure they're looking for you."

"Yes, Mr. Gee."

He stepped out with a smack of his tongue and darted off in search of other students to wrangle. I turned back to my crew with a my tongue between my teeth and slowly raised my trumpet to my lips again. Emmy shook her head and reached out, gently lowering the end back down again. I relented and set the instrument down on its bell, pulling the mouthpiece out. I thought for a moment on what Mr. Gee had said, turning my chair to face Em.

"So you know where Sasha is, right?"

"Yeah, downstage left talking to the director. She's been there for an hour."

I laughed, and so did two other students listening in on the conversation.

"Of _course_ you know where she is."

"Yeah, I know where everyone is, I'm a production supervisor. It's my job to make sure no one runs off or touches their face and messes up all the hard work I put into them."

"You coulda just told him."

"Yeah, but, would _you_ have?"

I chuckled, putting my trumpet back into its case.

"I suppose not."

"Exactly. Act like a bitch, get treated like a bitch, simple as that. There, I think i'm done. Trace, wanna come take a look at this?"

The other makeup artist, a senior by the name of Traci, stepped away from her desk and came over, a paintbrush covered in pink blush powder between her teeth. She grabbed Jaune by the cheeks and forced his face around, checking the paint for uniformity. Man, a lot of girls were doing that lately. She seemed to shrug.

"Sh'good. Glashesh?"

Emmy grabbed the massive old man spectacles from behind herself and folded them open, handing them to Jaune. He put them on his face, settling the pads on his nose so they wouldn't carve gouges into the multiple layers of concealer and flick it into his eyes. The last thing any of them needed was for him to get pink eye two hours before the show.

"Perfect. Absolutely beautiful."

Emmy smiled and got up, grabbing a cloth from behind her to wiper her hands off with. I recognized the pungent smell of rubbing alcohol and vinegar, a solution of Em's own design that worked absolutely wonders to peel makeup off of skin far better than any off the shelf remover product. It made your face smell like pub food, but it worked.

"Go on, say a line." Em prompted.

"I've been reading lines for three weeks."

"Not in costume, you haven't." I interjected, jabbing him in the ribs.

He sighed. "Fine, if you insist."

"We insist."

He hunched his shoulders forward and pushed his lips out, picking up the tub of concealer like it was a flower pot. I have to say, he very much looked like a blond Rick Moranis, with all the bobby pins holding his hair in place.

"'Hi, Audrey, you look radiant today… is that new eye makeup?'"

"Perfect, he's ready. Go do you your vocal exercises with the rest of the cast, I've got more people to abuse."

Em shooed him off with a wave of her hand, reaching back over to my head and grabbing her hat back. I let her have it. Jaune skipped off to the backstage door, off to find the director and the rest of the troupe to practice with for the remaining time. He turned and waved as he got to the door.

"Break a leg!" I called after him.

"Break both of them." Emmy chided.

Jaune winked back at me, smiling cheerfully.

"I'll compromise, one and a half."

"Deal."

He left, shutting the stage door quietly. Emmy huffed and crossed her arms, grabbing her clipboard with names on it. A list of names of the other actors who were up to be painted. She grabbed her pen and scratched Jaune's name off the list, scoffing and tossing it down on the counter.

"Fuck. Trace, you're gonna do Chris."

"Fuff mo!" the other girl said, her mouth full of bobby pins.

"Hey, if he sits in that chair, I'm doing his makeup with bruises."

"Uhhhhff."

"Thanks, Trace." She gestured to me, pointing her thumb out the the stage door. "C'mon, you're gonna help me."

"Cool, what with?" I asked, latching my case closed and picking it up.

"We're gonna go up top."

"Wait, don't you have more makeup to do?"

She shrugged. "Nah, not for another half hour. I got Jaune's done pretty quickly in comparison."

She led me out through the stage door and hung a sharp right, to a hidden door just next to the mic box on the wall. The dim light of the backstage area was dark enough to not quite be able to see the maze of patch cords and stage props that I managed to bump into all of. She pulled out her keyring and opened the hidden door and pointed inside. To literally just a ladder.

"Oh. What's this?"

"Catwalk. Go on up."

I looked to her, confused. "Uh, you sure?"

"Well _I'm_ not going up first, you'll see up my skirt."

"What, you not wearing underwear?" I teased with a smirk. She just rolled her eyes at me. I knew she always wore black spandex shorts underneath skirts and dresses, something I eventually learned to copy.

"Ugh, just go up the ladder, Dummy."

"Alright, alright."

So up we went, the cold steel ladder freezing my hands. I pulled myself up onto the catwalk and turned to pull my friend up too. The catwalk was completely dark, as the theatre house lights didn't reach up to the ceiling where we were.

"Damn, this is neat. Should we even be up here?"

"Yeah, we're in the stage crew. I have a key."

"This feels like the kind of thing I'm not supposed to see."

"It's cool, c'mon."

I followed her along the skinny catwalk over the top of the stage. I felt a little precarious, holding onto the railings. We passed by one of Emmy's friends, Ryan, who was busy dealing with a follow spot not cooperating on its mount. We ended up on the part of the catwalk that ran laterally across the area above the theatre seats. Em sat down and slung her legs over the edge. I sat next to her, crossing my legs underneath me.

"Hey, look. It's Jaune." I said, pointing down at him quietly. "He really does look the part."

Him and Sasha were doing a bit from the musical, specifically the 'Suddenly, Seymour" number to just a backing piano. I know that I should have been down in the band pit at least preparing for the show, but I really didn't feel like it. Jaune's voice carried its way up to the rafters even without the mics they had to wear.

Emmy shrugged. "Sounds the part, too."

"This is cool."

"Yeah…" she trailed off. I looked over.

"What's up?"

Another of her famous sighs. "It's nothing important."

I noticed she seemed preoccupied by the acting going on on the stage. I followed her line of sight down to see her staring intently at Jaune. It took me a few moments to realize why.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Sorry."

"It's fine, you're allowed. You're only human."

Em smiled and put her hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sure I'll grow out of it in a bit. Hell, I'm pretty certain of it. It's _him,_ after all."

I tried to hide how hard I was clenching my fists.

"Well, do you have anyone else on the horizon?"

She sighed and leaned back on her arms. "Yeah, I guess. There's still Andrew."

"He break up with his girlfriend yet?"

"Yesterday."

"Then swoop in!"

She shrugged.

"Nah, I'm okay. I'll wait. It'd be rude to infringe on him and be a rebound for him, that's trashy."

"Yeah, in hindsight that's pretty trashy."

She bumped me in the side, pointing down at the stage.

"Can you be honest with me?"

"Yeah, Em, of course."

"You like Jaune, right?"

I sniffed, and looked away.

"Yeah, a little."

"Just a little?"

I chuckled.

"Fuck off, Em. You know how I feel about him."

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

I put my arm around her and pulled her over.

"It's cool, Em."

It was not cool, Em. I had competition.

And competition with Emerald? That was not a competition I could win.

Shit.

But let me just say, the musical went off without a hitch.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

 _May 21st, 2003_

You'd think normal wednesdays in May near the end of ninth grade would be pretty normal, right? Yeah, well, not really. Most of the time things don't go quite to plan, but I've learned and mastered the art of just kinda winging it at this point, so nothing really phases me anymore.

It was a bright 'summer' day from what I can recall, pretty mild in temperature. No more than twenty degrees or so, and that meant it was team sports day according to Mr. Fields, the gym teacher. I'll be honest, I liked Mr. Fields. He was one of the few physical education teachers that actually would participate in the sporting events taking place and not just stand off to the side and blow his whistle like Mssr. Alouette. This meant that Mr. Fields was quite a bit more athletic than most of us kids, and could and would soundly whoop our asses during dodgeball and floor hockey, and almost take pride in doing so. But the guy was young, like twenty-six, so he could be excused for still maintaining his youthful attitude and abilities.

But that was fine, he was a fun guy, and he also taught tenth grade physics. I think we all appreciated Mr. Fields. And just between us, most of us girls liked the way his ass looked in those black jeans he always wore. Just saying. It was excellent.

Ah, getting off topic thinking about butts again. Anyway, my point was, our gym class in ninth grade was always something to look forward to because we were always genuinely expected to follow the 'physical' portion of physical education, and that meant we were always beat and dead tired by the end of the seventy minute period, and usually still sweating profusely in our chairs during english or psychology or whatever we had afterwards. I would show up to calculus and vectors with my hair plastered flat onto my head and Em would show up to geography in an entirely new outfit than the one she started the day in. It was a good thing Phys Ed was second period and not third, or else we'd be showing up to lunch too tired to even lift our sandwiches and too gross to even want to.

Now, this was a time of segregated gym classes. There was a boy's gym class and a girl's gym class. We were separated for who knows why, and this seemed to irritated the surprisingly progressive Mr. Fields. The usual drill with women's Phys Ed was that half the year would be low-stress games like ping-pong and badminton, and the other half of the year in a health class learning about how we were all going to contract HIV and the benefits of abstinence. Yeah, Mr. Fields didn't like this. His ideology was more like 'you girls are human beings too, we're gonna use every ounce of strength you have and prove ourselves better than the boys' class. I certainly appreciated this sentiment.

So we played football, like the boys. We played full-contact soccer, like the boys. We played _real_ dodgeball using those heavy rubber exercise balls, like the boys. We played baseball and softball, _just like the boys._ See where I'm getting at? We played real, hardcore sports monday to thursday, and on fridays we'd sit in the classroom on the second floor and Mr. Fields would lecture us about regular women's health topics like proper body care and the benefits of safe sex and consent and body positivity. So instead of half the year wasted, it was more like one fifth. Hoo-Rah.

Lucky us then, that the teacher for the boys' class, the venerable rugby star Miss Johnson, who had played on _my sister_ 's team back in high school, always liked Mr. Fields' idea of combining the two classes and having proper sports days where we would play one another. These were good days, and they were made especially better when we played girls vs. boys floor hockey or soccer when we were allowed to, that's right, have full contact. I'll remind you this was two thousand and three, still before all child safety rules were actually enforced in schools, so we could basically do whatever we wanted. Got hurt in gym glass? Get up and deal with it. Got burned in chemistry? Should have been wearing safety gloves, idiot. Fell down the stairs? Your problem now, what are you, five?

Miss Johnson was cool, though. Since her and Winter had been friends on the rugby team in highschool and they still kept up, there would be days when I would come home from school and Miss Johnson would be sitting at our breakfast table having tea with my sister, chatting about stuff and things, usually. Whenever she was around our apartment, I was instructed to refer to her by her first name, Lex, and when at school I was to use 'Miss Johnson or I'd receive detention. And detention with Miss Johnson actually meant running laps. I'm not kidding. That was the punishment ten years ago when _they_ were students, so that was what we got to do, too.

So this particular wednesday was one of those crossover episodes where Mr Fields and his troupe of bloodthirsty girls faced off against Lady-Mountain Miss Johnson and her army of boys for a be-all take-all deathmatch of epic proportions. And this time, it was floor hockey. A truly Canadian pastime, that we all could enjoy. Although I remember Em not being exactly good at it or enjoying it much on account of how tall she was, meaning the sticks were always a little on the short side and would make her hurt her back from bending over. But for my tiny ass? Oh, let me tell you. This was my _calling._ There was only one left-handed hockey stick for us to use, and I had already lay claim to it, being one of two southpaws that I knew. And that meant I could _slay._

My team, we'll call the Dream Team, was currently faced off against wouldn't you know it, Jaune's team, which we'll call the Loser's team. It was myself, Em, a stout and athletic girl named Ruth, an actual league player named Taylor, Valentine 'Victory' Mateo, and the tiny but flexible Jessica Harcroft playing net. See, when you're Mr. Fields' favourite, you get to pick your own team _first,_ and that's what I did. Since I was Team Captain, I got to play centre and take face-offs against Team Loser's centre, Ryan, who also happened to be Em's boyfriend. That meant I had every opportunity to make that theatre nerd pay for stealing Precious Emerald's heart and stomping all over it like boys do when they're fourteen.

The ball hit the floor, dropped by this kid who couldn't play on account of his broken arm. I sneered at Ryan and made him jump, giving me time to take the serve away and pass it back to Ruth, who took it and played it up the court past nearly the whole team.

"C'mon! Go through him!" I shouted up at her, watching her duck and dive around Ben, one of the defensemen.

"Cross over!" Taylor shouted, hip-checking the _shit_ out of Carter, the other defenseman.

Ruth passed across the court, the little red ball fired like a cannonball to the actual hockey player, who chose to deke around Jaune and make him look like a fool with a broomstick instead of a reasonably competent hockey player, which I'll admit that he was.

Ryan tried to stop me from advancing up the court, but I didn't let him, plowing my shoulder into his chest and bulldozing him aside.

"Yeah, you show him!" Em called from behind me, keeping the net adequately guarded. "Suck it, Ryan!"

"You guys are so mean!" he complained, tumbling to the floor.

Honestly, that's what you deserved, Ry-Guy. As of yet, no whistle had been blown, and that meant I could continue my assault up the court to join Taylor and Ruth as they passed the ball back and forth between the defensemens legs.

"One time!" I yelled as I entered the end zone at a full sprint.

Ruth got my gist and directed the ball to me. I was almost foaming at the mouth as I cranked back the stick and detonated the ball through their goalie, a particularly handsome boy named Markus's five-hole. A centimetre higher and I'd have destroyed his testicles, but I got a goal instead.

"Hell yeah!" I cheered, raising my stick above my head like a Tusken Raider.

"Good shot, kid." came the call from Miss Johnson. "Keep your stick below your waist, though. You might take someone's eye out."

"Yes ma'am. Sorry."

"Fair goal!"

I turned back to the centre of the court and jogged over, watching Emerald pick poor Ryan off the floor. I think he should have stayed there, honestly, but we had a game to play. I let Em take the face off this time against Jaune, just because I wanted to see him flinch and get flattened by her. You have to remember, most of the detriment I applied to Jaune was for my own amusement. And amused I was as the ball dropped and Emmy's shoulder met with his face as she won the face-off.

"Go!" I yelled, as the ball fired back to Valentine, who in turn fired it across to Taylor.

Our plan from the outset was to use our bigger players like Valentine and Ruth to punch holes in Jaune's team's defensive line, and then use Taylor, the veteran hockey player, as sharp needle to get into the endzone before using myself and Emerald as the heavy-hitters to score goals. And so far, this strategy had worked wonders, since we were up three-one.

"Push through! Push through!" I commanded, taking a run up the left side across from Taylor.

Em was in a good position near centre-court, lined up for a reasonable shot. She did the usual 'two-smack' of her stick on the floor to signify she was open. The pass went wide to her front, and I watched diligently as she chased it down with Ryan in hot pursuit. They hit the edge of the court at the same time, their sticks intertwined and clattering with that familiar sound of scratchy vinyl plastic. Emmy wasn't getting anywhere battling with him like this, and I could see the frustration in her eyes.

"Get out of the way, Ryan!"

"You want the ball, you're going to have to go _through_ me."

"Ryan!"

"Nuh uh."

She scoffed and brought her stick up level, holding it in both hands. With a mighty shove, Ryan was once again on the ground and complaining and the ball was free for the taking. Before she could, however, a whistle was blown and Miss Johnson was running over.

"Stop, stop. What the hell are you doing?"

"What, he _said_ to go through him. Besides, he's my boyfriend, I'm allowed."

She gave Em the most incredulous of looks, almost to question her very existence.

"Wh- no, two minutes for cross-checking. Go sit on the bench."

"C'mon, it's all in good fun."

"No, it's a penalty, Emerald. Do you want two minutes more for arguing?"

"...No."

"Bench."

"Okay."

Em shuffled off and sat down on the bench that separated our court from the one next to it, her stick between her legs and a sad look on her face. Hey, I thought the play was fair, we had to makeup for our lack of brute strength _some_ how. Who cares if it's against the rules? Besides, this was a semi-contact game, no one had stopped me from shoulder-checking and no one had stopped Taylor from hip-checking literally all of Jaune's team. We were directed to the left-side face-off circle painted into the floor in our own endzone. And now since we were four-on-five, I had to play double duty watching both Ryan, the centre, and Jaune, the left wing. Goddamnit, Emerald.

"Look what you did, Ryan, you made a girl cry."

"She checked me, you saw it."

"I saw you tryin' to keep the ball away from her."

"Thats… the point... of the game?"

The ball dropped and I went shoulder-first into his chest again. Not sure why he hadn't learned this was my tactic yet, but he fell victim to it anyway. I got the ball again and handed it off to Ruth, who got herself around Ben and Carter with relative ease. Unfortunately, we were not the only ones who thought picking a real hockey player sounded like a great idea, Jaune had had the foresight to do just the same, claiming Bailey Linton, a seasoned league player for his own team. So Ruth lost the ball to him.

Bailey charged up the centre of the court like a runaway locomotive, easily slighting around Taylor and Valentine, and brought himself up to our net. With me doing all the work stopping both Jaune and Ryan from advancing, there was nothing I could do except watch as he did his best fake-out to try and land a back-handed shot over Jess's stickside arm. Even with her gymnastic attempt at a save, this was a goal. Disheartening, I know, but that was the price we were paying for Ryan being a bitch and falling over.

At the next face off I let him have the ball, not wanting to break my collar bone from repeated trauma, and took off after him as he backed it away and into his own endzone. An advantage I hoped, since this put me closer to their net and the cute boy guarding it.

"Give up the ball, Ryan."

"Catch me, first."

"I will injure you, Ryan."

"Like to see you try."

I like to think I got along pretty well with Em's boyfriend. He was pretty cool, he had good manners and generally didn't swear all that much, and since he was a theatre nerd he was sometimes even funny. He was kinda cute, I guess, maybe he was more Em's style than mine. I managed to get the ball from him with a bit of struggle, squiggling my stick in between his feet and nearly tripping him up in the process. I could see Em's giddy face from the bench as I roughed my way through her boyfriend, clearly enjoying the punishment I was giving him.

"Oh, look at that, your distraction has been your end."

"What?"

Of course, during the act of looking at Emerald, he had gotten the ball back from me and passed it down the court to Jaune, who was in our endzone.

"Ah, shit."

I spun around and took off after him, my shoes squeaking loudly against the hardwood, stick sliding along the ground. Since the majority of us were up the court in the opposing endzone, this left only Valentine and Jess to do the hard job of stopping Jaune from advancing. Unfortunately, since Jaune and I would play street hockey together every winter in the cul-de-sac behind my apartment, he was much better than our remaining defenseman and easily swooped around her. I, however, was still much faster than him and easily caught up and flung my stick out to deflect his shot.

"I've got you now, Jaune! Give up the ball!"

I made a mad dive forward at the ball. Jaune cranked his stick back for an absolute _haymaker_ of a slapshot.

See, at this point, I should have learned that Hockey is a contact sport of epic proportions. Including the times I had knocked Ryan to the ground and put massive bruises on Jaune and his teammates' legs with the end of my stick. These plastic sticks were basically like bladed lances. High-sticking penalties in real Ice Hockey are no joke, since the real sport was played usually with carbon-composite sticks made of a dense weave of fibreglass and carbon fibre that was both viciously sharp and incredibly dangerous to get in your skin if the stick were to splinter. You know that pink stuff behind the walls of your house and how your parents were always telling you not to touch it? Yeah, that's because the little pieces of glass fibres in it can get lodged in your skin and cause crazy rashes. Same with carbon fibre. Now, imagine those little fibres being lodged in your face by a high-sticking. Not fun, hence the rule 'sticks below the waist'.

Well, in order to get a complete wallop of a slapshot, your stick was naturally going to drift above the centreline a little, that much was clear. And with the weight of the plastic head of these school sticks, that upward swung was going to carry a lot of momentum. This meant that the end of the stick before and after a slapshot was something you _probably_ wanted to avoid getting hit by on any part of your body.

So I dived for the ball at Jaune's feet, just as he was cranking back for what was likely going to be the hardest slapshot of his life.

What I remember from this most was seeing the ball on the court, followed by sudden, violent, _searing_ pain in my face. I fell quickly to the floor, my face on absolute, unadulterated _fire._ I couldn't see. The pain had literally momentarily blinded me. I honestly felt like I had been shot in the face.

I remember trying to cover my face with my hands, but my cheeks being literally too wet to hold on to, the acute taste of iron-y blood in my mouth, and a definitive _gap_ in the skin of my cheek. But I specifically remember the point at which my left eye just kind of stopped working. Everything was hazy for a few moments, the lights from the overhead lights blaring down through the bloody ocean on my face, and then the left side of my vision went slowly dark, and faded out. And then I noticed how quickly two-dimensional the ceiling became. It was awful. Jaune's face phased in and out from the left side of my vision, past the dark part and into the light. The pain in my face had started radiating down my neck and into my chest, bleeding through me and cutting off the feeling to my left arm and shoulder.

Was I crying? Yes. Was most of those tears blood? Also, yes.

"Holy fuck, are you okay?!" Jaune almost yelled.

I didn't have the ability to respond.

"Oh my god, your face!"

Normally, that would be an insulting thing to say to someone. I didn't have the ability to take offense. Emmy's face was the next to appear from the right side. I saw her cheeks go quite green, nearly the colour of the eyeliner she was wearing. She seemed horrified. After this, I just kinda scrunched up my eyes and tried to wait out the pain. See, when I had broken my leg, the pain wasn't this _constant._ This was likely the worst pain I had ever been in, and ever would be in for the rest of my life. This pain continued, pulsing every time I tried to breathe. Unfortunately, that was an action I required to perform so I didn't pass out and die of oxygen deprivation.

So everything after this point was a feeling, and a dull ringing sound as my left ear had also stopped receiving signals slowly as well. At some point, something was pressed onto my face and held in place with what I can only assume was a fair bit of force, but I couldn't decipher between hard and soft pressure on my face. After what was probably only ten minutes, the _paramedics_ arrived. It had felt like I had been bleeding for an hour and the pain had been a part of my entire being. I actually, in that moment, completely forgotten what not-pain felt like, and even my own name. I'm serious. I actually didn't know what to say or _how_ to say it when the medic asked me to say my name as I was lifted onto the stretcher and lifted up. I remember the dull sounds of someone saying 'concussion', which honestly I wasn't even mad hearing about.

So apparently, Jaune had remembered that I kept my wallet in my backpack, specifically in the left-side tiny pocket, zipped up with the little Stitch keychain. He had run into the girl's changeroom and grabbed my wallet and health card to give to the paramedics, which was something I genuinely commend him for doing. I don't even care that he went into the girl's changeroom. I couldn't say my own goddamn name at the moment, so he gets a free pass. In fact, he can have as many free passes as he wants. The ride in the ambulance was painful, as every bump in the road added to the pain in my face as my body was jiggled around. Jaune never one let go of my hand the entire ride, calling Winter on my phone and alerting her to my predicament and which hospital I was being taken to.

Twenty-five minutes later, I was pushed into the Emergency Room at CHEO, Jaune still carrying my bag and holding my hand as I was guided to a proper hospital bed. Winter intercepted us at the door, having tore ass across town to show up before us and immediately started yelling like a banshee upon seeing me. I don't remember anything after this point because I was quickly sedated. I was completely okay with how quickly I found the pain disappearing and the void consuming me. I was out, and the pain was gone, and that was ay-okay with me.

/.../

Ketamine is a helluva drug. A _seriously_ good drug. Picture a large field of daisies, spanning out for many miles in each direction. Now imagine you're floating around above it about five feet over the ground, leaning back in a large recliner. Now imagine that the field of daisies is actually made of plaid flannel and arced down and creating a lovely deep crater to float through, shifting between green and yellow with red stripes, and orange and blue with white stripes.

I really liked the inclusion of these ethereal walls of sanity, also made of plaid wallpaper, that slowly passed through me. It carried my body over the field and rotisseried me clockwise over my own central axis. And there I floated, bewitched by my own sense of wonderment and fulfillment at the easy prospects of the world. I had no cares, only carefully selected colours and the calming, droning sounds of what I might have wanted to describe as a C-Major chord, played on a violin with an endlessly long bow. Jaune could play violin. I think I remember him being kind of good, actually. And his dad was teaching him guitar. Jaune would look cute playing guitar, right? Probably. I hope so. I think so. Yeah. Maybe I outta learn guitar too, I wondered. Yeah, we could start a band! Play music!

The colour didn't fade, not for a while. I was left to my own sense of disastrous serendipity for as long as I liked. All I needed was a nice cool lemonade and a sunhat and I was sure I could watch the play-dough clouds for hours, endlessly spinning and morphing through my mind and soul as my cool was soundly kept. Sensations came through like each non-sequitur thought and made my brain feel like a strong mix between jello and cheese curds, pouring through my veins like glue. Maybe I was just hungry, though. Caught in that middle ground between wanting to eat food and wanting to be food. Food had it great. It existed solely to please us and nobody was ever upset when it appeared. Food was that one thing that we all universally wanted to be in our lives and cherished like our own children. If only I could be food. Then I'd love me a whole lot!

But that's the human condition, isn't it? To be wanted, to be desired? Desire was a strange emotion. A strange affliction. I was afflicted by it. Many people are. I desired many things, and many people. One people, actually. But beyond that, I desired. I was human. That's what we do. We desire.

And I desired J-

/.../

Waking up from just how stoned I was was not a pleasant experience. Especially waking up _mid-vomit_ as my body decided it had enough of the light and the drugs in my system. Luckily I was wearing a hospital gown and not my lucky Star Wars shirt that I had showed up to school in, or I might have been a little upset. I mean, yeah, we have a washing machine, but that takes effort and I wasn't in any kind of way to expend effort right now. Not with how disastrously fucked up on painkillers I was. My eyes, or actually just my _eye_ as I only had use of the right one, was puffed up and hard to see out of, but upon waking up I did manage to get it open to survey my surroundings.

"Oh, welcome back, Weiss."

My sister was just to my right side, in a swivel chair, still in her blazer and slacks, literally fresh from the office.

"Glad to see you back in the land of the waking."

I tried to speak, but my mouth didn't really react to the signals my head was giving it.

" _Sssshaffen…"_

"Shh, don't talk, you'll rupture your stitches."

" _Uhhhh."_

"Jaune hit you in the face with a hockey stick by accident."

" _Uhhhh…"_

"Cut your face open pretty bad. That stick did a number on you, honey. You have a concussion, don't move so much."

I didn't move so much.

"I'm not mad, if you're wondering. I understand that accidents happen. You just got a little hurt, and it happens. I'm not mad."

I was silently terrified that she was going to slaughter poor Jaune over this.

"The doctor said that your zygomatic bone and supraorbital foramen were exposed. That stick was apparently razor sharp, you're lucky that you'll be able to see out of your eye after this."

" _Uhhhh…?"_

"Yes, you'll be fine eventually. I'm reading your chart, here. You have twenty-eight stitches in your face right now, and I'd like you to not move your face and burst them. I'm surprised Lex didn't faint when she saw you, she's never been that good with blood. You had a pretty serious contusion on your face."

I tried to nod, but I couldn't. My head was in some kind of neck brace I _guess_ to stop me from pulling the skin over my face by moving it.

"Honey, stay still. You're gonna be here a while, and I'm here for you. Your face is pretty badly messed up. I have to change your bandages, wanna see the cut?"

Uh, not really, but I wasn't in any position to object since I couldn't talk or move my head. She reached carefully out and slowly peeled the medical tape off my other cheek and lifted the brown-stained mess of gauze and cotton padding off of my left half. With the amount of blood in the bandages you'd have thought I was gonna look like Two-Face or something under all that. Luckily I couldn't actually feel that side of my face yet, since when she finally held up a mirror for me to look at myself, I almost screamed at my reflection.

Because cutting down the left side of my face, from the middle of my forehead to just below my cheek, was the _massive_ vertical slice that had been sewn up with what looked to me like black cotton string. I looked like Frankenstein's goddamn monster. I looked like some kind of sick science experiment. My left eye was swollen and bloodied from all the seepage from the five inch long serration.

" _Uhhhh!"_

"Yes, I know it looks bad, sweetie. But to be fair, your skull was showing, this is the best the doctors could do. But now we match, right?"

She pulled up her bangs so I could see the little cut that passed through her right eyebrow, given to herself after falling off the monkey bars when she was like nine or ten. This… didn't really make me feel better, since this injury couldn't be hid by stylish bangs or thick eyebrows. This one literally shone out of my face like a spotlight, saying 'look at me, I'm deformed!'

" _Uhhhh…"_

I did my best not to break down and sob my guts out as my sister carefully dabbed at my skin with an alcohol wipe, cleaning the dried blood away from the very dark red line that passed through my eye socket. It didn't even hurt, since I was still very stoned and the paralytic they had given me was still active in my face, but I knew it was supposed to hurt and that made me sad anyway. I watched her in the mirror apply some Vaseline to the area around the cut , making sure not to soak my stitches, and covered the whole thing up with another box full of cotton balls and gauze before taping me up again. I tried to pout. My face didn't move.

"Look, I know it sucks. It's gonna be a big scar. But you know what? It's gonna be a _cool_ scar, you're gonna look like Kakashi. Don't you wanna be that cool?"

I mean... maybe. I certainly _felt_ like an anime protagonist sometimes.

"It was an accident. Accidents happen. Poor Jaune is sitting out there in the waiting room right now thinking you're gonna hate him forever. You're not going to do that, right?"

Of fucking _course_ I wasn't going to hate him. I was angry about the scar on my face, but I didn't hold him accountable. Hell, up until Winter told me that he had caused it I had assumed it had been something else. Stray ball, someone's elbow, who knows. It was only once she had told me that Jaune had cranked me in the face with a hockey stick because he didn't know I was literally _diving_ for the ball did I make the connection. It wasn't his fault. I didn't even need to forgive him because in my opinion it was _my own_ stupidity and competitiveness that had put me in that predicament. I knew he was going to take it poorly, thinking he had handicapped me in some way, but that was just him being dramatic as always.

"Do you want me to go get him?"

I tried to do a 'thumbs up' but found my left hand currently unavailable due to the paralytic. I held up my right thumb weakly.

"Okay, I'll be right back, sweetheat. Don't you go anywhere."

As if I could.

Within moments, my sister returned with a very fearful Jaune at her side. She had to basically corral him into the room since he barely could move forward to meet me. I must have looked like a disaster victim, half my face covered in gauze and my eyes all swollen, blood everywhere.

"W...Weiss?" he asked, carefully approaching.

" _Juhhhh!"_ I tried, feeling my mouth barely able to move.

"Weiss, don't talk. We went over this."

" _Uhhhh…"_

Jaune stopped at the edge of my bed, his body very clearly showing remorse.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… I didn't want… I didn't see you… I'm sorry, I-"

" _Uh-uhhhh…"_ I managed, stopping his drivel. " _Uhh fuhhhh…"_

I don't think he understood.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

Winter leaned over his shoulder.

"I think she was trying to reassure you that she's fine."

See, she understood me just fine.

"I'm sorry."

It was really fine. I had a morphine drip going. I wasn't mad at him. I was mad at _me._

"Jaune, it's okay," she rubbed his shoulders. "We're not mad at you. I promise."

We really weren't. But as usual, he thought everything was his fault, and that's okay. I was used to this, he's just dramatic.

He sniffled.

"Okay…"

" _Uh guhhhh…!"_ I tried to reassure him. It didn't really work. I gave a thumbs-up instead.

"Weiss, no talking."

" _Suhhruhhhh…"_

Winter sighed and sat back down on the swivel chair and pulled alongside the bed. She leaned her elbows against my tummy and put her head into her hands, careful to keep all her weight supported by her arms and not my body.

"I think I'm going to take some time off work and homeschool you for a bit. At least until the stitches can come out, how does that sound?"

Sounded good to me.

"But you're still going to do all your school assignments, okay? Jaune, can you make sure to bring her assignments over after school for a bit?"

This, on the other hand, didn't sound so go to me.

"W-we don't h-have all the same classes…"

"I'm sure you can co-ordinate with Emerald and all your other friends, right?"

"Y-yes, ma'am."

"Jaune," she chastised. "I'm not mad at you, you don't have to call me ma'am. It's Winter, and that's final."

"Understood."

It was cute how hard he was trying to not be absolutely terrified by my sister and not cry.

"Good. You're welcome to come over as much as you like still. Especially after you were very brave in sticking with her in the ambulance and keeping her company. We love you very much."

"O-okay."

It was true. We did. Winter sighed and carefully wiped a dried steak of tear off my cheek.

"This is going to be hard to explain to Mom and Dad at Christmas, isn't it?"

It certainly was. We only saw our parents on holidays since I had moved in with my sister four years ago. They always did the 'oh, you've grown so much' thing, even though I was _their own daughter._ But no, they treated me like I was extended family, always fussing over their precious baby boy, Whitley, instead. Even though that little bastard was _thirteen._ So the sudden appearance of a giant facial deformity would likely encite a chorus of 'oh, what happened?' and 'did it hurt?' as if they only partially cared about me.

I kinda shrugged.

" _Uhhhh…"_

"Well, I'm sure they'll understand."

I hoped so. I mean, I knew that Em was going to think the scar was cool as hell. She was _deep_ into reading Naruto at this point, and had already started putting up posters of Kakashi and Sasuke in her room, making it look like she was having a confusing fusion of aviation and manga on the brain. Which, honestly, she did.

The scar… was pretty cool, I guess. I never lost it, it became a permanent feature on my face. I lived my everyday life with the pink scar adorning my face, and nobody ever really seemed put off by it. Those who asked questions usually did so out of wonderment and genuine interest in it rather than digust and fear. It made cosplay both easier and _much_ harder as covering a scar like this in concealer and putty was a royal pain, so I just made a list of cool characters with eye scars to do instead. I learned to embrace it, because it was who I was, and I didn't let it bother me.

Besides, if you think this is bad, you should have seen the other guy!


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

 _November 3rd, 2003_

"We should start a band."

Jaune looked up at me from his seat, briefly pausing in thought.

"We should?"

"Yeah, we'd be great, don't you think?"

I gently tapped the last peg into the guitar's saddle bridge and reached for the tuning nut. Jaune and I had been tasked to re-string the music class's collection of nylon guitars since Mr. Fernbank was set to start a classical guitar curriculum with the seniors. We had gotten most of the way through by the time fourth period spare rolled around, and even Emmy had come to join us, despite not being in the music program anymore. She wasn't participating in the re-stinging, though. She had laid herself out on five of the padded music chairs and was napping quite soundly in a sunbeam that was cutting in through the window.

"Well, we aren't exactly set up for being in a band, I don't think."

"What are you talking about, this is _literally_ the music room, Jaune."

"No, I mean- ugh." he paused a minute to finish tuning the guitar in his hands. "I'm not sure either of us can really play 'band' instruments all that well."

I scoffed at him, twisting the tuning nut to wind in the nylon.

"The heck do you mean, you can play guitar, can't you? Isn't it a transferable skill from bass?"

"I mean, a little, just some stuff my dad's shown me. I'm really more of a bass player and a violinist 'cause that's what I studied."

I gave my head a harsh shake to flick my bangs out of my eyes.

"Yeah, but you can play, right?"

"Only what my dad showed me, I just said that."

"Well, then it's time for you to show me what he showed you!"

I pointed diligently at him with the headstock of my guitar. He sighed and shrugged, reaching up to the tuning nuts on his guitar and dropping the strings all down a half-step.

"Alright, if you insist."

"I insist, Jaune."

He just kinda gave me 'the eyebrows' and settled in his chair, pulling his guitar up into a more comfortable position. He fidgeted a moment, lining up his fingers on the fretboard and over the sound hole.

"Sorry in advance if this sounds like shit, I haven't warmed up or anything."

"No excuses."

"As many excuses as I want!"

I rolled my eyes at him again and put my guitar back in its case. After a moment of counting himself in, he started to strum out the very familiar intro to Extreme's 'More Than Words', using the actual correct Cadd9 and Am7 chords instead of their simplified versions. I furrowed my brow at him, impressed and a little confused by this hidden talent. He cleared his throat a few times and played himself in.

"~Sayin' I love you, is not the words I want to hear from you~"

I leaned back in my chair to listen.

"~It's not that I want you, not to say but, if you only knew~"

He paused dramatically to drop down to a B minor 7th.

"~Ho-ow ea-sy, It would be to show me how you Fe-eel~"

I watched his fingers as he walked between chords. I couldn't believe he'd lie and say he wasn't very good, because that wasn't what I was witnessing.

"~More than wo-ords, is all you have to do to make it re-eal, Then you _would_ n't have to sa-a-ay, that you love me-ee~"

He paused again for the jump up to A minor 7th.

"~'Cause I'd al-reaaa-dy kno-ow!~"

He finished out with another run through the opening chords, and ended on a solid and hanging G major. Without even flinching, he re-tuned the guitar back up to standard tuning and put it down in the case, zipping it away. I was flabbergasted. Completely taken aback. He had been hiding _this_ from me, and I was entirely unaware. Jaune could _sing?!_ And play guitar like Nuno Bettencourt _himself?!_ This was unacceptable. Even Em at this point had woken up and was now sitting upright, giving him the same look as I. Lucky for me, she went ahead and distracted him.

"That song's about sex, right?"

Jaune froze, halfway through picking up another guitar to re-string.

"Uh, I dunno. I don't think so."

"Well, the line is 'how easy it would be to _show_ me how you feel', isn't that like saying the artist wants the girl to bone him? To _show_ him how she feels, instead of saying 'I love you' over and over?"

"Emerald, grow up." I interjected. "That's not what it means, it's about the subtle nuances of a relationship, how just a look or a touch can be used to express more than just the words."

"Yeah, you said touch, I'm pretty sure that means…" she made a loose fist and shook it back and forth. "You know?"

Jaune, ever the grownup, snickered, and cleared his throat to speak.

"I'm on Weiss' side on this one. It's about how little interactions can be more meaningful than just three little words that honestly get said too much."

I nodded along with him. "I'm surprised you were able to extrapolate that, Jaune."

"Why's that."

"I 'unno, usually you're pretty dense when it comes to love n' stuff."

He shrugged. "I'm pretty sure I'd be able to see love if it happened to me like in the song, it doesn't sound too hard."

My eye twitched. Quite violently. Luckily, since I was wearing my bangs over my face to hide the scar, Jaune didn't see my reaction, only the pleasant smile I used as cover. Because _excuse me, bitch?!_ At this point, I'd have been surprised if Jaune saw a wrecking ball being swung at his head with the words 'I Love You' spray-painted on the front of it. I heard Em scoff under her breath, something that he didn't hear.

"Right. Of course." I tried to unclench my jaw. "What else have you got in your repertoire?"

"Uh, nothing I'd want to play on these nylons. If I had something nicer to play, I might be inclined to open up a few more tunes. Nothing especially exciting, though."

At this moment, Mr. Fernbank got up from his desk on the other end of the room and marched over, skirting through us and pushing into the back storage room. We watched him search around in the dark for a moment, the sounds of music cases thudding into each other coming from inside the little side closet. He emerged after another few moments, carrying two large cases in his hands. He set the larger of the two down next to Jaune, and set the thin case down across two nearby chairs, handle out. He pulled the cover off, revealing a gorgeous brass-inlaid Fender Sixty-Five Twin Reverb amplifier, complete with the shiny chrome Fender badge stitched into the expensive tolex face.

He turned and hit the latches on the longer, skinny case, and opened the lid. Out came a rather pretty-looking Fender Mustang, in beautiful Torino Red with chromed strike plates and bridge. The pickups had been replaced with a pair of Yosemite open-coil humbuckers, done up in shiny chrome as well. He turned to Jaune and handed him the guitar, taking the half-finished nylon Yamaha out of his hands.

"What's… this?"

Mr. Fernbank didn't say anything, continuing to plug the foot pedal into the front of the amp and setting it down at Jaune's feet. He whipped out a patch cord and plugged it into the jack on the amp, handing the other end to Jaune for him to take, which he did. Jaune plugged the patch into the jack on the guitar and settled it on his legs, twiddling with the tone and volume knobs as Mr. Fernbank switched on the big amp. It hummed loudly as the cathode tubes started to warm up, slowly getting quieter as the red indicator light slowly illuminated to show that it was ready to use.

"If you're going to complain about your instrument, I figured you needed something with a little more power and presence than a classical guitar." he pointed at the guitar he had placed in Jaune's hands. "Go on, make some music."

Jaune shrugged. "Alright."

He hit the selector all the way down and cranked the tone dial all the way up, stepping on the foot pedal with his heel. He grabbed a pick from inside the case and rolled out a kink in his neck.

"Don't expect anything noteworthy."

See, I don't know if Jaune was being deliberately facetious, but I really think he needed to come clean with us. He had spent all of his childhood hiding stuff from me, like his involvement in martial arts, his secret love for Japanese cuisine, the fact that he knew more about Impressionist painting than most museum tour guides, all usually for his own entertainment than to show off. Jaune had this wealth of knowledge stored up in his head that we never really got to see outside of little inklings like this, or on field trips to places he had no business having an interest in. Yet, somehow, we were all surprised when he would break into lecture about cool old train facts or suddenly remember how to make sashimi from scratch.

I remember a time, back when we were kids, youngin's, really, that our friend group was out on the town one night, in the great big city of Ottawa, and we walked passed this old historical memorial that was under construction. I made a passing remark that the statue didn't have it's informational plaque beneath it, as it had been removed for refurbishing, and that maybe the history on the plaque was being changed, and that Jacques Cartier, the man the statue was of, was actually being renamed posthumously. Jaune then went on this forty minute lecture about the history of the French expedition to Canada in fifteen-thirty-four, headed by the man who would lay the original map for the _entire Gulf of Saint Lawrence._ And this one lecture was so well laid and spoken, even _Emerald_ started to show interest and asked real, topical questions about the history of our great nation to the north.

And _musically_ , it's not like we didn't know he was pretty good. He was right, he was a violinist at heart. There were times I'd show up at his house on weekends and he would be in the middle of practicing in the other room, sounding like he belonged at Julliard two years ago. I had even gone to one of his shows, where he had done a duet of Tchaikovski with his teacher, which I'm gonna go on record saying was one of the purest sounding violin duets I have ever heard in my life, he even sounded richer and better-practiced than his teacher! So I knew he had some musical talent stored in his bones somewhere. That didn't mean I wasn't, on occasion, completely humbled and baffled by the things he did or the things he played. And sometimes, his latent talent actually made me _mad._ How did he do it? How could he just burst out with genius as easily as walking down the street? It made me want to punch the poor kid.

Because goddamnit, when he said 'don't expect anything noteworthy' and then immediately drop into a note-for-note perfect rendition to the opening of 'Johnny B Goode', I wanted to reach across the chairs and smack him in the face. I mean he sounded _so much_ like Chuck Berry as he so effortlessly picked out each note, almost like I was sitting across the room from Chuck himself.

I just sighed and leaned back in the chair and tried not to kick him for showing off.

"Hey, that's not so bad!" Mr. Fernbank quipped, pulling up a chair.

"Thanks, my dad wanted me to learn that."

I scoffed. "Your dad likes Chuck Berry?"

"Yeah, he was quite popular in France when dad was a kid."

"Didn't that song come out when he was, like, ten?"

"He got an early start on rock and roll."

Mr. Fernbank stood up for a moment. "D'you know Stuck in the middle?"

Jaune shrugged. "Just the blues version."

"Excellent. Weiss, saddle up on that piano, we're gonna do something here."

I blinked, briefly taken aback. "Uh, sure."

I stood up and crossed the room to the big electric grand in the corner, and sat down behind it, barely getting comfortable. I lifted the lid and powered it on, watching Mr. Fernbank fiddle with the tone dial on Jaune's amp for a moment. He swung himself around behind the drumkit and sat down, rolling up his sleeves and grabbing a pair of sticks.

"Kay, it's twelve-bar blues in D, think you can improvise and play along?"

I lay my hands over the keys for a second and tried to picture the notes in my head.

"Yeah, I got it."

"Perfect. Jaune, Play us in."

He nodded, and started at his strings for a second, before rolling right on in to the bluesiest riff I had ever heard, in D major.

"~Well, I don' know why I came here tonight~"

Jaune's playing had me stricken. The way he would close his eyes and just kinda feel the music in his core was unlike any other person at the school I had ever seen play. No one else possessed the same kind of drive that he did.

"~I got this feelin' that somethin' ain't right~"

His transitions were as flawless as they could be. I waited for my cue in.

"~I'm so scared, 'case I fall off my chair, And I'm wonderin' how I'll get down the stairs~"

Yeah, 'anything noteworthy' my ass.

"~Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you~"

Mr. Fernbank played us in, rolling through a nice and simple drum line, following Jaune's strumming with an easy four-beat rhythm. I did my best to follow along, twinkling out as bluesy a harmony as I could, getting into the key with my fingers and jamming along. I wasn't following any sheet music or following any kind of instruction, since there was originally no piano part in the Stealers Wheel version I was just making it up as I went along. You know, that thing I was good at.

"~yes I'm, stuck in the middle with you, and I'm wonderin' what it _is_ I should do~"

There wasn't a lot of rasp in his voice for the full pack-a-day blues singer effect, but that was to be expected, he was only fifteen. It would be quite a few years until his singing voice came in. I could wait.

"~It's so hard to keep this smile from my face, Losin' control, yeah I'm all over the place~"

I rolled my fingers up to the high register for a moment, twinkling out something in the key of D.

"~Clowns to the left of me, _Jokers_ to the right, here I am, Stuck in the middle with you~"

Without a bass player and someone on slide guitar, it was a little thin sounding, to be honest, but the fullness of the borrowed Mustang sang out over any dead spaces in the music, leaving anyone who didn't know the song to think this was how it was supposed to be. I made sure to keep my left hand on bass chord duty as best I could, while maintaining a sufficient rhythm.

"~Well you started out with nothin', and you're proud that you're a self-made man~"

Even without a slide on his finger, he dragged up along the neck and made a reasonable approximation of a bottle-slide.

"~And your friends, they all come crawlin', slap you on the back and say, ple-ee-ee-ee-eease~"

He paused to let the chord hold a moment.

"~Ple-ee-ee-ee-eease _yeah~"_

Mr. Fernbank hit the crash, startling us both, but not enough to throw Jaune off tempo.

"~Well, I don' know why I came here tonight~"

I almost caught myself staring at him and forgetting how to play. I was just still so impressed.

"~I got this feelin' that _some_ thin' ain't right. I'm so scared, in case I fall off my cha-air, and I'm wonderin' how I'll _get_ down the stairs~"

His inflection of each word as he sang was almost note-for-note perfect to the way Canadian Blues Guitarist and famous Roadhouse actor Jeff Healey used to do this song on the 8-Track I always had in the player of Winter's car. It was like Jaune had the ability to channel the musician directly through his arms and into his fingers.

"~Clowns to the left of me, _jokers to the right,_ here I am, Stuck in the Middle With you~"

Mr. Fernbank let his drumming fade out at this point, leaving only myself and Jaune to finish out the song, which I think we did quite well all things considered.

"~Yes I'm, Stuck in the Middle with you, stuck in the middle with you~"

His voice faded out as he continued to strum along the chords as I gradually got quieter on the piano as well. I stopped playing, listening to just Jaune strumming quietly away, probably still singing in his head as he finished off the progression, and lifted his hand from the strings. I lowered my keyboard cover and leaned my elbows on it as I watched him slowly come to the realization that the room was quiet again, his face twitching nervously as he looked up at me.

"There, how was that?" he asked, lifting the guitar back to its case.

"You know, I think that's the first time you've ever played music for just me." I smiled over at him, dumbly. "Or even sang for me. That was a first."

"I… wasn't aware you wanted me to sing for you, or that I needed to have a reason to."

"I didn't say you needed a reason to, just that this is the first time you _have._ But I mean, I'll take every opportunity for you to embarrass yourself in front of me, if that's okay with you."

He let out a brief chuckle, closing the case and latching it.

"Alright, if you insist."

"Oh, I'm going to frequently and fervently insist from now on."

"That's up to you, man."

Emmy interrupted us from her position off to the side, her voice sharp and mildly irritated.

"You know, you two woke me from my nap, which I was _enjoying."_ She paused to cross her arms. "...But you interrupted it with rock and roll, so I guess that's okay. Why'd you put your guitar away, aren't you going to continue?"

He shook his head and looked back over his shoulder at her.

"Not immediately, I need to eat my lunch. Don't want to get the axe dirty."

I chuckled and stood up from the piano, and pulled myself around to sit in the row of chairs next to Jaune.

"What, you mean you didn't eat during third period?"

"Weiss, _only you_ have lunch during third period, Em and I have Pre-Calc in third period."

"Nerds."

"You have it fifth period. So, you're a nerd too, Miss Piano-Lessons."

How dare he say such a correct statement around me. Didn't he understand that I was trying to one-up him? The whole point of one-upping someone is that they don't bring to the table facts about you that might counteract anything you've said! It's like he didn't understand basic etiquette.

"Yeah, well, shut up."

"You shut up."

"Nuh uh."

He just rolled his eyes at me and stood up.

"I'm gonna go get my lunch, I'll be back in like, five minutes."

"You do you, nerd." I chirped, leaning too far back in my chair.

Jaune chuckle-scoffed at me as he moved through the chairs and out the door, closing the latch quietly and disappearing away down the hall. I rubbed my ear as I stood up, and moved rows to sit down next to Em, who had laid back down on the chairs and closed her eyes. I poked her in the knee.

"So when the fuck did Jaune learn to play guitar so well?!" I nearly yelled.

Em's eyes snapped open, and a look of confusion crossed her face as she shot upright.

"Oh my god, I _know._ Like, holy shit."

"That's not just 'can play guitar', that's 'hidden unbelievable deceitful talent'."

"Fuck, if I'd 'a known, Ryan would be _so_ out of the picture."

I spun in place and glared.

"You wouldn't _dare."_

"Sorry, Weiss. What, you want me to lie to you?!"

"Emmy, you promised. We had a deal."

"I know, I know, but did you _see_ that asshole playing guitar a minute ago like I did?"

I grimaced at her, squinting down my eyes to try and evaporate her with my mind. It didn't work.

"Yeah, I saw, _Emerald._ You promised not to interfere."

She shrugged.

"I'm gonna have to."

"I'm telling Ryan."

"Go ahead, he'll even agree with me. I hate to tell you this, Weiss, but… Jaune's getting kinda hot, lately."

I stood up, pointing an angry finger in her direction.

"To the death it is, then."

"I'm bigger _and_ stronger than you, Snowflake. Do you really think you're going to win that?"

"God knows I gots to try. For the honour of my people."

"What, skinny white bitches?"

"May we forever be strong."

I stood up on a chair, one foot on the seat and one on the back rest, and posed as dramatically as I could, barely teetering from my elevated position. I could see Mr. Fernbank's worried glare from his position over at his desk. Sure, I wasn't supposed to be standing on chairs, but I was kinda not worth the effort to most teachers, as they knew I would do it again unprompted. Emmy just rolled her eyes and laughed at me.

"You take everything too seriously, babe, you know I'm just riling you up."

"Rude."

"I am right though. Jaune is… starting to rub off on me a little. I don't like that I like it."

"All those years actively avoiding him, and now this, Emerald?"

"You can't say you aren't the same, Weiss."

I paused, staring down at her.

"You have a point."

The door creaked open just out of frame, we both turned to see the devil himself stroll back in, stopping to stare at the situation he found us in.

"Who has a point?" he asked, wide-eyed. "Why are you on a chair?"

"You just missed it, they were about to go all medieval on one another." Mr. Fernbank chimed in. "It was gonna be spectacular."

"Shame I missed it. Please get down, you're gonna fall."

It was my turn to roll some eyes, this time mine, and at Jaune.

"No I'm not, don't be silly."

"You have a history of falling off things. Get down."

"Pfft, no, what are you, the safety poli- _waa!"_

I fell backward off the chair, having lost my balance only briefly. It was pretty spectacular, if short lived. I landed with my feet on the ground and my hands out to steady myself. After a beat, Em completely lost her shit and started cry-laughing in her chair, unable to breathe or even speak. I could hear my teacher choking back a laugh as well at his desk, desperately trying to remain professional in light of my unco-ordinated ass falling off the very obviously unsafe chair. I dunno if Jaune will _ever_ tire of dealing with my dumb ass, but at this point it's just par for the course for him.

"Ugh."

"Groan all you like, I didn't hurt myself, did I?"

"You're going to one day."

"Aw, you care about me!" I shot a glance to Em, who stopped laughing for a brief moment to wink at me. "Such a sweet boy."

"No, I just don't want to have to answer to your sister the next time you get sent home with a broken arm."

"Oh, it's all about self-preservation, isn't it?"

Jaune shrugged and sat back down in his chair, his lunch box in his hand.

"Whatever I gotta do to keep you safe and keep her size thirteens out of my butt."

I crossed my arms and sat down in the chair I nearly ate shit off of.

"Rude."

Jaune shrugged again, opening his lunch box and pulling out his sandwich. Any other day I would have reached over and grabbed it and stuffed it directly into my food hole, but after the conversation with Emerald I didn't really want to show any kind of affection at this particular moment. So I sat and watched as he carefully placed each of the Tupperware containers on a turned chair in front of himself, lining everything up so it was uniform like the lunatic he was, and placing his bottle of apple juice on the ground so it would have less of a distance to fall should he or anyone else in the room decide to kick it.

Unfortunately, Emmy knew that I would have proliferated Jaune's lunch in this sort of situation and made a dive for it, grabbing the little blue box that contained the sandwich and retreating up two rows of chairs to consume it. Jaune didn't even put up a fight, sighing into himself and the knowledge that he would most certainly not be getting his food back. Em snickered as she cracked off the lid and grabbed half of the PB and J that lay within, cramming it swiftly and messily into her mouth. If I'd known that there was such a delicious collection of nut and fruit pastes to be had, I would have forgone my trepidation and theived anyways, but today Em beat me to it. A shame.

"Sho," Em pushed through a mouth of peanut butter sticking her braces together. "What elsh can you play?"

He put his pilfered lunchbox aside and leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head.

"Like as in instruments or songs on the guitar?"

"Shongsh, dumbash."

He looked back down at the guitar for a second.

"Few other things, mostly rock stuff. My dad's big into that, so that's what he taught me."

"Wha' 'bout that one Derek an' the Dominosh shong?"

He picked the guitar back up and slung the strap over his neck and got comfortable again. I dunno what it was about it, but the big-bodied Mustang just looked right in his arms. He grabbed his pick.

"You mean this one?"

And of course, as you'd expect, out came the opening riff of 'Layla', as perfectly as Eric Clapton himself might have, bending the strings almost to the point of breaking to get that sweet bluesy tone. Em smirked and pointed with her stolen sandwich.

"Yea, tha' one."

"Jaune, if I may," our teacher briefly interrupted. "But by chance have you heard of Eric Johnson?"

He nodded, moving his shoulder so the strap fell from his shoulder.

"I have."

Mr. Fernbank paused for a second, turning fully around in his chair.

"You know, you're the first of my students to ever know that name."

"He's popular in France, would you believe. My dad used to play _Ah Via Musicom_ on repeat when I was growing up. It's kinda ingrained in my head."

Mr. Fernbank nodded slowly.

"Ever play anything of his?"

"I can do the chorus part of Cliffs of Dover, but none of the crazy solo stuff."

"Well, I wouldn't expect you to do any of that, that would be insane."

"Here, look-"

Jaune brought the guitar up level again, and flipped the tone switch all the way down and cranked the volume dial all the way up. After a brief moment of fiddling the tune through his head, he started out on the familiar arpeggio riff that only a select few guitar aficionados would recognize, let alone be able to play. I sat back and crossed my arms, still amazed and frankly a little insulted by his abilities. He didn't miss notes, he didn't choke up. He just played better than anyone I'd ever seen. I was starting to really believe the whole 'sell your soul to the devil' business of hidden talents. Because there was just no way that he could do what he was doing without some kind of divine intervention.

As soon as the magic was over, he did a hair flick to get his yellow blond bangs out of his eyes and looked up at me. I smiled over at him.

"Jaune, marry me."

He chuckled and turned his guitar down so the pickups would stop buzzing so loud in the old tube amp.

"If you insist."

I was shocked for a moment, turning to Emmy, who had the same dumb look on her face.

"Well, shit, if it was that easy I would have asked years ago. Play me something else."

"Alright. You guys okay with Dire Straits?"

"We're in dire straits as it stands, Jaune." Em quipped. "Also, weren't you guys talking about starting a band?"

Jaune nodded and started to play the guitar part quietly, easing in the flamenco-style D-minor chord, tone switch flipped all the way up to the softer of the two pickups.

"That's what she said, yeah. One of us is gonna have to play drums, and I'm a little preoccupied at the moment."

I looked to Em.

"Can _you_ play drums?"

"Pfft, no, I can't keep time to save my life, you know that."

I pursed my lips.

"That means _I'm_ gonna have to learn how to play drums, doesn't it?"

"Looks like it," Jaune quipped, continuing to roll through Sultans of Swing as if it was background music. "I can riff all day long, it only becomes a song if I have backup."

I thought about this for a moment.

"So what you're saying is…"

He nodded again. "I'm gonna need my Meg White."

A smile formed on my face.

"Alright, Jack. I'll see what I can do. It's probably gonna be a bit of a learning curve, going from piano and trumpet to drums."

"You can do it. I've seen you do more with less."

I sighed and stood up.

"Why don't I give it a shot. What's a song that I've heard that's got a simple beat I could learn in five minutes?"

Jaune stood and moved around to the amp so he could be closer to the drum kit as I moseyed over and sat down on the little round stool. He pondered, his brow furrowed.

"Give me one reason?"

"Uh, because I asked you to, dumbass."

He paused a second to scoff, smiling.

"No, I mean the Tracy Chapman song, 'Give Me One Reason'."

"Oh. Is it hard?"

"Not that I remember. Just ride consistent eighth-notes on the hi-hat basically."

"Okay, I guess that's-"

"Hold on, I have the sheets for that." Mr Fernbank interrupted, shooting up and diving for his filing cabinet. "Ah, knew you'd be there. Here you go, Weiss."

He bounced over and set the two pages on a stand just behind the toms. He fiddled with it a second to make sure I could see both pages, and that they were flat.

"Right, I'm not expecting you to do any crazy fills here and here, so just keep going with the main chorus through those. Up top is the line for the high-hat, the beat notation is the same as you'd see in your trumpet or piano sheets. This isn't exactly a right or left-handed instrument, but I'll advise that you play the high-hat with your right hand and the snare with your left like everyone else. It will make remedial lessons much simpler for me."

"Arright." I chipped, grabbing a pair of sticks out of the bucket next to the kick drum. I used one to point at the page. "I'll assume this line is the snare drum?"

"You got it. This is a relatively simple drum beat. This little squiggle means a roll, and you can ignore that for now, it's not something I can teach you in a minute. Just… improvise. You'll get it."

"I certainly hope so. Besides, if I fall behind, Jaune'll be there to keep the beat going , right?"

He winked back at me.

"I got you."

"Sweet."

I watched Jaune roll out a kink in his neck as he fiddled with the knobs on his amp. He turned around, satisfied, and moved over to in front of the drum kit, taking his pick back out of his teeth.

"You ready?"

I fidgeted, twirling the drumsticks in my fingers.

"I guess so."

"Right. This is 'Give me one Reason', by Tracy Chapman. Two, three, four…"


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

 _February 14, 2004_

"But what if I fail?"

"You won't."

"But if I do?"

"It's ten bucks to take the test again. You won't fail. Besides, you've been studying that damn book for like six months, I'm pretty sure you could write it out verbatim with your eyes closed."

I sighed and sank down on the uncomfortable bench.

"Yeah but what if? What if all of my memories have been screwed up by nerves and I answered every question wrong?"

"Ugh, you are unbelievable. Look, you studied, you practiced with the example tests, and you do nothing but criticize my driving _every time_ we go out in the car. You are absolutely unbearable as a passenger, I guarantee you won't fail."

I paused my sarcastic theatre for a second, hand on my forehead.

"... but what if-"

"Oh my god, Weiss, shut up. You've been at me for twenty minutes. It takes a while to grade the tests because it's entered by hand. You'll pass, you'll get your damn license, and you'll shut the hell up about it, okay?"

I shrunk into my jacket.

"Okay, Winter."

"Excellent. I work in public records, believe me I know how long it takes to do this kind of manual data entry, especially on a Saturday. Besides, have you seen how disgruntled most DMV employees are most of the time? You're 'inconveniencing' them on their Saturday, so they're gonna take their sweet time grading your test."

"Oh. Well that's rude."

"From what I have seen at work, that's what these people pride themselves on. Who can be the rudest. And so far, I'm banking on the large round one who took your information initially."

I nodded and crossed my arms.

"Yeah, she was distasteful."

"And she smelled like medium-rare horse."

I snorted into my fist.

"Yeah, but all DMV employees are like that, aren't they?"

My sister sipped at her travel mug.

"All the ones I've ever met do, you're right. And believe me, they're all just as miserable and crotchety, too. You learn to deal with it."

"Yeah, I don't think I'll ever work in public affairs. I my bullshit-o-meter would break from the stress."

"And you think _mine_ is still functional? Weiss, please, my bullshit-o-meter hasn't worked in years. In fact, I think if it was working, it would be pegged in the red right now over how long it's taking to grade your stupid test! How many other people were in there with you?"

I shrugged.

"Like, three. And one of them was finished before I even sat down."

"Yeah, this is ridiculous. I've been doing data entry for like, only two years but I bet I could do this with my eyes closed. There's no way it's acceptable for this to be taking _so long."_

I scratched an itchy spot on my nose for a second and leaned back against the wall, trying to emulate the way Winter sat with one leg draped perfectly over the other. It was hard to do in jeans, I'll be honest. My sister's much more casual workout attire seemed a lot more elastic than my navy blue tight-fitting thigh-constrictors.

"What _do_ you actually do at your job?"

"Hmm?" She looked at me with the one eye that wasn't hidden by fringe.

"You always complain about working too much but you never told me what you do beyond 'I work for the government'."

"Well, that's really all I do, I'm a data analyst for Environment Canada. I look at spreadsheets all day and compare them to other spreadsheets about weather and air quality and stuff like that. It is the most boring job in the world, but at least it's not waitressing."

"You didn't like being a waitress, didn't you?"

"I fuckin' hated it. Now I get a desk and an office and a brand new Intel Pentium 4. Currently the best computer in my building, and it's all mine."

I gawked.

" _Scheiße,_ How'd you sling that?"

"I managed to convince them that my G3 was too slow."

"How?"

"By typing faster than the little Apple processor could respond. It got to the point where I called my supervisor in, had him watch me type out a paragraph of text, then I stopped and crossed my arms while the screen finished displaying what I had done at its own pace."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah, so, I broke up with Steve, and now I'm with Bill. He understands my needs."

"Jesus, Winter."

"I'm telling ya, I stand behind my Intel now. Nothing will _ever_ beat two full gigs of RAM, never in my lifetime, I promise."

I choked on my tongue.

"Holy cow, _two_ gigs?! That's more power than anyone should reasonably wield on a desktop device. What are you doing, animating with it?!"

"Nope. Juuuust spreadsheets and Word documents."

"Damn." I stretched the word over a few syllables. "Lucky you, eh?"

"And maybe a little bit of entitlement. Sometimes I think the girl in IT likes me. I know that every _guy_ in IT does, because obviously my vanity shows from time to time."

I shrugged.

"Who knew you could get cool computer equipment just by being pretty."

Winter chuckled and elbowed me gently in the shoulder. "Aw, thanks, Weiss. You're a sweetheart."

We were interrupted by the frumpy woman behind the desk.

"Uh… Shy-Knee? Weess… Shy-Knee? Please step up to the desk."

I turned to the woman at the desk and frowned, before turning back to my sister.

"Well, on the basis that very few people might have a name that could be misconstrued as such, and would further be unlikely to be at a ServiceOntario facility on a Saturday morning, I will reasonably assume that she's calling… for me?"

"Excellent solve, detective. Go on, then."

I shivered and stood up, brushing off my pants.

"Well, here 'goes, I guess. Let's see how badly I failed."

"Oh, you're impossible. Go up to the desk."

With a light shove to my butt, I was directed towards the woman behind the service desk. I was nervous. But, so is everyone who is unsure of the results of a test, of any kind. I mean, I'm nervous if I'm getting back routine _eye_ tests, even though I know my vision is a fixed one-and-a-half in each eye, and never changed my whole life. So, a driving test is a little higher on my nervousness priority list, and my fear was fully justified, and I stand by that. And today, on my sixteenth birthday, standing before the woman who held in her hands a pass or fail test result on the most important single test I have ever taken, I was nervous.

I've wanted to drive since the day I was cognizant. It didn't help that the car I grew up getting driven around in was in my opinion the single coolest automobile ever to roll of the production line in Detroit in nineteen seventy-three. The big Pontiac had always secretly been my dream car, ever since my sister had started restoring it to its original chrome-appointed glory. She had even re-painted to to its original Regality Blue colour, covered in several copious layers of clear coat to give it a show-room quality finish. When our father had bought it in ninety-four, it had been a wreck, really. Faded black paint, mismatched hubcaps off a Cadillac, seven of its eight cylinders actually firing, big plumes of blow-by exiting out around the car basically any time it moved. In fact, I remember one of the hardest and most expensive repairs I ever helped her with was getting the car's original and problematic _Glide-Away_ electric rear glass and tailgate functioning again, since when we got the car it was all broken.

I loved the big station wagon. It was as much a part of my family as my own siblings. And god dammit I wanted to drive it. That's what my life had been leading up to at this point, and I wasn't going to squander it here!

"Are you Weess?" the desk clerk asked.

"Uh, it's _Why_ -ss, but yes."

The woman slid over a large manila envelope.

"Here ya go." her voice was accented like that of a malignant tumour. "You passed. One hundred percent. Here's your licence."

My heart did about eighteen flips inside my chest, ping-ponging off the inside of my ribcage as if it had been ripped from its aorta and vena cava and laced with dynamite.

"I… I passed?"

The desk employee went back to her paperwork, regarding me only automatically.

"Yes."

"I… I can drive now…"

"Mmm. Ya free to go."

Clearly I wasn't wanted by the desk employee. But that's okay, I didn't want her either. I stumbled backward and turned around, hobbling back to the bench where my sister sat with a patient look on her face. I did my best to hide my glee as I saddled back up on the low bench next to her, my coat scrunching up under my butt. Winter leaned around my face and peered at the envelope.

"So, how'd you do?"

I struggled for words.

"Poorly."

Winter sighed.

"Oh. Well, that's a shame, I gues-"

"A hundred measly percent."

"Okay, listen here, you."

She grabbed me around the neck in the crook of her arm and drove her rugby knuckles into my noggin and messed up my hair something fierce. Normally, I wouldn't be able to get free since Winter was much bigger and _much_ stronger than I. However today was also one of those times, and I was still at her mercy, no matter how hard I struggled.

" _Wmmm_!" I couldn't speak on account of her forearm in my mouth. " _Wmmm!"_

The envelope was requisitioned from my grasp, and opened. She pulled out my license card from the bottom and held it up to the light, eyeing it favourably.

"Wow, G-One. I'm damn proud of you kiddo."

I was released.

" _Gaahhh."_

"I knew you'd pass, didn't I? Didn't I say that to your dramatic ass?"

I finally let my grin beam.

"Yeah."

"You know what this means, right?"

"What?"

She shrugged.

"I never have to drive again, so long as you are living under my roof."

My face went white.

"What?"

"This little plastic card here means I don't have to drive because I have a recently-graduated chauffeur."

"But-"

"-Is the thing I'm gonna be sittin' on from here on out, while you drive me around."

I flushed.

"Oh."

Winter stood up and let my neck go, kicking her heels on the tile floor and holding my license out to me. I followed her up and took it, finally having a moment to actually look at the damn thing. My little face stared up at me, with a dishevelled mug-shot look that I'm sure we're all familiar with. Yeah, don't worry, I don't look good in my license photo either. I flipped it over, spying the 'corrective lenses required mark just below the signature box. Winter poked my in the cheek.

"C'mon, kiddo, we got stuff to do. Find a nice spot in your wallet for that."

I nodded, and pulled out the little leather folder from my coat, flipping it open to the previously-unused transparent plastic sleeve on the inside left side. Obviously this was for a driver's license, so that's exactly where I put mine, folding my wallet back up and sticking it back into my coat. We left the building together, almost skipping our way back out into the mid-February air, which was much milder than it had been in quite a few years. In fact, I'm pretty sure it had been the warmest February on record in quite some time, as there had even been the odd local news story on it. Gotta say, it was nice to be wearing a light spring jacket on my birthday for once, instead of the big heavy ski coat I had for properly inclement weather.

It was something like five degrees out with the early day sun out, beating down on us and the saturday morning parking lot. Now, I know that five degrees in most parts of the world is actually pretty cold, but for us here forty-five degrees above the equator in February, that's almost tropical. We're used to snow and ice and bullshit temperatures usually far below zero, so five degrees is almost shorts weather. I mean, just a few years ago was the ice storm of ninety-eight, where all of the Valley froze solid under ten centimetres of ice in early January, so this unprecedented warmth was more than welcome. Although I will agree that skating down the middle of the street was pretty neat, even if our house was critically without power. But hey, I was ten, I saw the fun in it all.

So in the sunlight of today, the bright warmth of a clear day shone down on us and the ServiceOntario parking lot, reflecting off the cars lined up row by row in front of us, and I felt at ease. It was a good day to have sun, especially since it was my birthday. I had turned sixteen years old on so far the nicest day of two thousand four. It was great.

Right up until the moment we rounded the corner of the lot to our car, and I was reminded of what I had just accomplished here.

"Hey, Birthday Girl."

I turned to Winter.

"Uh huh?"

"Catch."

I barely had time to react before the jingling keychain hit me in the chest and fell into my arms. I almost stumbled backwards trying to catch them, but managed to stay butt-side-up this time. Lucky me, of course, with _my_ history.

"Wh-what?" I stumbled out. "What do you mean?"

"You're driving, duh."

I blinked at her dumbly.

"Wh- I thou- I thought you were kidding about that! I was just playing along!"

She sneered.

"Hell no, you're driving."

"But I don't know how to drive!"

"That little plastic rectangle in your wallet says otherwise."

I fumbled backwards a step. Technically she was correct. The _worst kind of correct._

"Buh- Winter, I've never driven before! Are you nuts?"

"I am not. I've seen the way you play those arcade racers, you're a natural."

"Video games are not equivalent to driving a real car!"

She shrugged and walked over to the _passenger_ side of the big wagon.

"Sure they are. There are plenty of video-game style simulators being used to train drivers all over the world, how is that any different?"

"Because Need For Speed Underground and Daytona USA _aren't simulators!"_

My pleading was getting me nowhere. Winter had already peeled open the passenger door and slid herself comfortably into the passenger side of the front bench, eyeing me with a cheeky grin all the while. I was beckoned forward, and unfortunately for my returning nerves, I approached the large automobile. And I do mean _large._ When you're a passenger, it doesn't matter how big a vehicle is, all that matters is how comfortably can you sleep while being driven around. But when faced with the daunting task of actually _driving_ this ocean liner, I started to realize the sheer scale and volume of iron that was to be at my disposal. The big Pontiac had never seemed _quite_ so large before.

I gingerly approached and reached for the sleek flush-mounted door handle, sliding my fingers up under the chrome pull flap. Obviously I'd opened this door many times in the past, but all of a sudden it scared me, because this time I wasn't about to slide across the seat to my side. I was sitting on _this_ side.

And so in I dropped, carefully into the indentation left by ten years of my sister's posterior pressing into the thick, vulgar quilted vinyl seat and settled in. The door fell shut behind me with a heavy crunch, cutting the sound of the outside world off fairly well for such an old car. I shivered, and not from the cold, but from the fear of what I was about to do. My dumbass hands argued with me the whole time I was trying to arrange the keys in a way that they would slide into the column, and made me drop them a few times onto my knees. Now, our Catalina wagon was the top-trim Grand Safari model, meaning it had power-everything including a power front bench seat. A good thing, considering I had to move it forward a million miles so I could reach the seriously wood-panelled pedals. With a shaky hand, I found the ignition, slid the key in, and turned. And four hundred cubic inches of 'holy shit, I'm really doing this' thundered to life in front of me.

"Winter, I don't think I can do this."

"Just drive the car, hun."

"But-"

"Do what you _feel_ is natural. It's really easy to drive, I promise. Oh, and adjust your mirrors."

I huffed nervously and reached for the power mirror toggle and did my best to set it so the rear quarter panel was only just visible at the edge of each mirror, which was kinda hard given how small the darn things were. When I figured I was good, I looked to my sister nervously.

"Don't look at me, man." She gestured to the oversized, expansive hood. "Drive on, captain."

Captain was right, with how big this stupid yacht was. I wasn't ready for this, but apparently I didn't have a choice. I reached for the long, protruding gear selector and pulled it down into drive. The car lurched a little. My heart stopped. I was, uh, to say I was ill-equipped for this would be an understatement. I let off the brake, and felt the sudden sway of each of the fifty-three hundred pounds as it moved forward out of the parking spot.

"Oh shit." I pushed the extra-soft brake pedal back down and stopped, barely having made it out of its own length. "Winter, this is _nuts."_

"You're doing alright. Make sure to signal before you turn."

I think I was pretty panicked at this point, but I followed her instructions anyway, flicking up on the skinny chrome handle on the side of the steering column. The over-boosted power steering was incredibly disconcerting as the enormous wood-grain wheel basically turned itself all the way over to the right as I lumbered the car out of the spot and around the van it was parked next to. My goodness was this vehicle _long_. But I managed well enough without hitting anything or anyone at two miles an hour to the end of the parking lot where the road was. And then I panicked again, stopping as the traffic flowed by in each direction.

"Okay, this isn't possible."

"It's completely possible. This is called a bridge median, and it's like a protected merge-slash-turning lane. Signal to the left, and when traffic is clear, pull out and onto the median and position yourself parallel to the lanes of traffic. Then signal right and merge into the lane of travel."

"This is bullshit."

"Don't worry, there's only like, three of these kinds of medians in all of Ottawa, you'll rarely have to use them. Proceed when the way is clear."

I shivered again and took a glance up the street in the oncoming lane. There was a pretty huge gap after an approaching Penske truck. It passed.

"Now?"

"Don't let me tell you what to do, you're the driver. But yes."

My muscles as froze up as I flicked the turn signal stalk down and fed my foot in on the long skinny go pedal, sinking the car onto its back springs as it pulled forward with the smoothness of a rubber band. I turned the over-light wheel to the left and tried to to cry as the _huge_ car tracked around like an aircraft carrier onto the middle of the median. I stopped, mostly parallel, my heart racing and my lungs hyperventilating. Look, most people learn in a Honda Civic, this was ridiculous, I can be excused. I paused for a second to collect myself, before signaling to the right and checking backwards over my right shoulder. Truth be told, the _acres_ of glass that made up the back of the wagon made shoulder-checking and lane changes incredibly easy. A red Cherokee and a grey Camry went by in the lane I wanted, leaving a pretty big gap before the next car. I mustered up every ounce of courage in my body and didn't bother asking if she thought the way was clear, and pushed the go pedal down what I thought was enough.

"C'mon, commit. Merge a little faster."

I bit my tongue to stop myself from yelling as I tried my best, watching the orange needle jump disconcertingly fast up to twenty, then forty, then sixty. I let off and let the car coast back down to fifty, which was the unmarked limit on this road. Much to my surprise, once the car was moving it actually tracked really straight in the lane and didn't need any adjustments to the huge wheel. I was still panicking, mind you.

"There, see, you're driving! It's not so hard, right?"

I made a noise.

"Ah, it's your first time, don't worry about it. Oop, yellow light, slow down and stop at the line."

I'd seen the yellow, and had already taken my foot away from the noise pedal and started to feed it slowly onto the brake. I was very thankful for the car's front disk brakes, as they slowed the car down almost like a modern automobile, but with the front-end dive of a police dog sniffing the grass. I managed to get the big monolith stopped just behind the white line.

"Alright…" Winter sat up in her seat and looked around. "I'm only going to say this once, because I want you to know what it feels like. Because if you do this when I'm _not_ in the car, I will never let you drive it again. Understand?"

I looked at her dumbly.

"What?"

"What I'm about to tell you to do, can you promise me here and now that you'll never do it again?"

I stuttered. "Uh, I-I guess?"

"Okay." She pointed forward. "When the light goes green, stand on it."

I blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"You _have_ to know what it feels like, so you remember to always drive below this level. Get ready."

I shivered. "O-okay."

The light went green.

"Floor it."

I did.

All of my fear went away in an instant as all five of my senses were filled by two hundred and thirty Malaise-era horsepower thundering away beneath me.

And it was fantastic.

/.../

My nerves hadn't been satiated in the twenty minutes it took to drive from Walkley to Barrhaven, even if I was doing exactly the speed limit, like a good girl. The HMS Catalina was incredibly forgiving to my frightened ass, and didn't bark or bite even once on the trip. It was like driving a marshmallow with power steering. Sublime, really. Nonetheless I was still sweating bullets when we pulled into the subdivision, even if the road was beautifully wide and free of parked cars.

"Oh, thank god, we're almost there." I sighed out.

"Hey, you didn't break any traffic laws yet, you're already doing better than me, Kiddo."

"I don't wanna go to jail, I won't break any laws, ever."

Winter scoffed.

"Keep telling yourself that."

Well, as much as my sixteen-year-old self promised to never break any traffic laws, we all know this isn't possible to anyone. We all roll stop signs, change lanes without signalling, and some of us even park more than thirty centimeters from the curb! Preposterous, I know! But I digress, I was sixteen, I was gonna follow the damn rules if it killed me. I slowed the big car down well before the driveway on the left I was aiming for, just in case. The Previa was parked out in the street, actually, almost like they knew I would be driving and would try to park in their driveway. I signaled, waited for a shiny red Mustang rumble by in the other direction, and then swung the massive Pontiac across the street and up Jaune's driveway. You know, there was actually a fairly steep four-ish inch curb at the end of his driveway where the pavement had eroded away, and you had to bunny-hop it on a bike. But the big, plush wagon steamrolled that curb like it was flat ground.

"Okay." I stuttered out as I pulled up, putting the car in park. "I can stop now."

Winter reached over and ruffled my hair, knocking my scrunchie loose.

"Oh, sweetheart, you're fine."

"I'm gonna go get Jaune."

"Hop to it. We gotta be there at ten."

I left the car running to keep the heater on as I shouldered my way out of the large automobile and into the brisk, mild air. And wouldn't you know it, Jaune was sitting in a chair in his front living room, his back to the window. I smiled a devious smile. A fool, he was. I snuck slowly up the cobblestone walkway and up the concrete front steps to his porch. Nobody else in the house had noticed either the rumble of the big four-hundred or my sneaky steps up to the window, which was great because when I knocked loudly upon it, Jaune nearly became one with the ceiling.

He mouthed something at me through the window. I assume fairly profane, But I can't be sure.

"Hey, idiot, c'mon." I gestured at his front door. "We're losing daylight."

It was nine in the morning.

He hobbled around his living room and ducked out of sight. I tapped my foot impatiently for a second, before his front door opened quite aggressively.

"You're an asshole, you know that, right?"

I nodded.

"Yep."

"Do you have to be like this?"

"Yep."

"Hoyyy…"

"Yep."

He rolled his eyes and grabbed his coat off the rack next to the door.

"You're an idiot."

"You say that like it's a bad thing, Jaune."

"Occasionally."

I punched him in the arm.

"Play nice."

"Ow. Happy birthday, idiot."

I danced in place for a second.

"It's mah burf-dayyyy!" I cheered. "And I'm older than you again."

I got another roll of the eyes in retaliation. Yes, I was older than Jaune all the time, but for the brief periods between our birthdays, I could actually prove it. I had 'evidence'. A minor difference in age.

"Whatever. I bought new pants for this. Can we go?"

I pirouetted in a small circle and bounced down the walkway and back out to the driveway. Jaune called his goodbyes through the open door and locked it as he followed. I slid down the driveway to the car and positioned myself at the driver's door. And exactly as you might expect, when Jaune rounded the corner of his house and saw where I was standing and what that might imply, he stopped in his tracks.

"Wait, don't tell me."

"Oh yeah, buddy."

He scrunched up his face and squeezed his head in his hands.

"I was happier on my couch without the looming fear of death over me."

"Look, Jaune, this is just part of being my friend."

"I'd like to cancel my subscription."

"No take-backsies."

"Damn it."

"Get in."

"Oy."

I slinked back into the driver's seat of the big car and got settled in, as Jaune begrudgingly clambered into the back seat right behind me. With a click, I did up my seat belt, and I could hear Jaune fumbling around in the back for his.

"No seat belt back there, remember?" I stared at him through the rearview mirror.

"Wh- wait, I thought one of the stipulations for having a G1 was that you are only allowed as many passengers as you have seat belts."

I frowned, looking at my sister.

"Y-yeah, that _is_ right."

She shrugged. "Car's wearing Historic plates, so it gets an exemption in this case. It wasn't built with rear seat belts, so it doesn't have to conform to that particular law, only the laws of the year the vehicle was manufactured."

I send a particularly devilish smile Jaune's way.

"Thought you could get out of me driving, didn't you?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Sucks to be you, don't it."

He crossed his arms and pouted as I slowly rolled out my shoulders and readied myself to drive. I took a few deep breaths, as that had worked earlier to calm my nerves. With all of us ready to go, I pulled the car into reverse and carefully backed down the driveway, being cautious as to not drive into the back of Jaune's dad's minivan. I got the car moving again, slowly as you might expect, and drove us down the road towards the main road. You know, after a few minutes of me proving myself a competent driver, I could see Jaune start to relax in the back seat, which was doing wonders for my self-confidence, actually.

Em's subdivision was almost a mirror replica of Jaune's side, as if the city planner in charge of this part of Barrhaven was sick the day they were designing, and the intern was just like 'do it again, but opposite', and thats what they went with. It meant it was easy to get around, as I used to live on Jaune's side of the suburb, and had memorized the street layout. In my opinion, I always liked our side. Em's side was far too foreign. And I don't mean like, foreign people, I just mean that we generally weren't allowed to cross the main road into the far side suburb. It was too far away. You feel me? But anyway, I maneuvered the large automobile across the main road and into the far side subdivision, fairly sleepy of cars and people at nine in the morning on a Saturday in February, as I would assume most people would reasonably be having breakfast with their families or watching morning cartoons at this hour.

As I pulled around the rather tight corner in the backstreets that she lived in, I saw the next rather daunting obstacle that the big Pontiac and I faced in her driveway, that being the also huge and significantly more expensive S-Class Executive owned by her dad parked right in the middle of the supposedly two-car driveway. I didn't even _try_ to squeeze the Catalina in next to it, as the piano-black luxury car was worth more than my apartment, and then some. Her father was given the car as reparations for the tragedy that befell him three years ago, and damn did he love it. I pulled our car along behind it and parked it on the street instead of going anywhere near the huge sedan, lifting the transmission into park again.

"Kay, I'll go fetch Loser. You guys wait here."

Winter shrugged.

"Yeah, go 'head. I'm comfy here."

I scurried out of the car and back into the cold air, scampering up the driveway and up the three skinny concrete steps to her front porch, which was still decorated with coloured lights and would be until march most years. I stabbed my finger into the doorbell button for probably too long, hearing the musical chiming of her doorbell singing out inside. I waited, and after about a minute, I heard the door unlock. It swung open slower than I was anticipating, and it was followed by Em's head and pretty face, which was a lot whiter around the gills than I was anticipating.

"Hey hot stuff." I chided.

"Mmm." she tried. "G'morning."

"You ready to go?"

She shook her head, lips pursed and eyes closed to the light of the day.

"I was sick this morning."

I gave her a once over. Sick or not, she _had_ gotten dressed.

"Please, you were sick yesterday and Thursday morning too, you were fine by lunch."

She nodded, agreeing, but not looking any less green.

"Yeah, I guess."

"It's probably just something in your stomach, it'll buff out."

She stood a little further upright, a twinge of pain on her face.

"You're probably right. But still. I dunno, man."

"You'll be fine, loser. Besides, I made four people worth of food, it would be a shame if we all had to eat thirty-three percent too much because you didn't come."

Em's head hung to her chest, a dejected smile on her face.

"You're ridiculous."

"It's muh birthday, Emerald. You _have_ to come."

"Right. Right. I know." She sighed, deeply. "Let me get my coat."

I clapped sarcastically and bounced in place as she turned around to grab her jacket out of the closet. She seemed to be deliberately dragging her feet, as always, as some form of defiance against me. 'Cause, you know, that's how she was. A loser. After a moment of stalling, I had her out the door and into the weather. I dunno, maybe the cold would be good for her, probably. I know a cold glass of water and a nap with the window open always fixes _my_ winter colds. I pulled her along diligently outside and down the driveway to the big car, reaching out and opening the back door for her.

"My lady."

She fell in sideways, forcing Jaune to move over.

"Yeah, whatever."

I just chuckled at her snide attitude and slammed the big iron door behind her, and slid myself back into the driver's seat. To her protest, of course.

"Wait, no, _you're_ driving?! Since when do _you_ have a license?!"

"Since this morning."

She struggled for words for a second.

"Buh- uh - no! I'm not gonna put myself at risk _today!_ I'm gettin' _out!"_

She dived for the door. Lucky for me, I had an ally in the back seat who grabbed her around the midsection and held her in place. Thanks, Jaune.

/.../

The Valentine's Day Car Show at the EY Centre was probably one of my favourite events growing up. It was too bad global warming had to go and change the climate so much they put a stop to the events in twenty ten. But in the years before that, the Canadian Antique Car Association would host a charity event for the Heart and Stroke Foundation on Valentine's day, and invite basically anyone with a classic car from before nineteen ninety. The admission was forty bucks per car, twenty bucks if you were just a visitor without a car, and this would be the first time I attended the event _with_ a car. The usual turnout for this event often went into the _hundreds_ of cars, typically around two-fifty, and attendance was always in the thousands. It was a popular show. A shame it had to come to an end. Also, yes I realize the acronym for the car club spells 'Caca', but we all held our tongues when reading the sign. We were technically still children, we were going to find it funny regardless.

Our car, The big Pontiac, was saddle up somewhere near the middle of the exhibition hall, parked as you'd expect with a collection of other classic General Motors products of around the same year. On our left, a seventy-three Grand Ville convertible in Florentine Red with a white roof, and to our right, a completely base model seventy-two Chevelle Malibu sedan, complete with the 'Turbo-Thrift' six cylinder and a three-speed manual. And according to the plaque in front of the car, it wasn't beige, it was 'Covert Tan'. Sure, Chevy. _That's_ what it is.

Directly across the velvet aisle from us was probably one of the cooler cars at the whole show, actually. A _real_ sixty-nine GTO Judge, fully optioned with the Ram Air IV engine and hood-mounted tachometer, in original condition. It wasn't restored, or repainted, or anything. It was _original,_ with the little bits of sun-fading on the Carousel Red bodywork, paint chips on the front bumper, teeny tiny cracks in the deep black leather seats. This was a piece of history, not a prissy piece of art like a lot of the Corvettes and Mustangs on the other end of the show. This car had actually been _driven_ here, not dropped off in an air conditioned trailer. I was in awe of the car, so much so I had been distracted by it ever since it had rumbled into the parking space.

"Weiss, you're dripping soap on the ground."

My sister's casual chiding brought me back down to earth.

"Oh, shit."

I fumbled with the rag for a second, grabbing a dry one from under my stool and wiping away the wet streak of soapy wash and wax liquid I had dribbled down the side of the door.

"Yeah, man, you're making a mess." Em laughed from her chair.

"Shut up, loser." I spat back. "You're not even helping."

She shrugged. "It's not my car."

"Jaune's helping!" I pointed with my elbow to Jaune, who was busy clay-barring the long hood. "What's your excuse?"

"I just did my nails this morning."

I looked at her hands. No she hadn't. I rolled my eyes and threw a towel at her.

"Make yourself useful and at least towel off the roof. You can actually reach it."

She rolled her eyes back.

"Fine, whatever. It's not my fault you're so short."

I ignored the comment about my height and spritzed the door with more wash and wax.

"You ain't mooching off _my_ snacks if you don't help me clean _my_ car. Also, what happened to being sick this morning, you're fine now aren't you?"

"Yeah, what of it?" She stood up and started to do as asked.

"I told you you'd be fine, didn't I? You made a big deal out of nothing."

Em just ignored me and continued to towel off the car, flipping her hair in my direction. God, I liked when she did that. Just… don't tell anyone. Anyway, I was making progress at this point cleaning the car, having made my way all the way down the twenty-three foot long flank, having used most of a bottle of Turtle Wax waterless wash and wax solution, and all the road grime had been carefully polished off. Good thing we had run the car through a car wash that was less than a kilometre from the convention centre. That had reduced the amount of cleaning by a lot, and I was pretty pleased about that. I rubbed my nose on the back of my hand.

"Hey, Em, you've been hanging out with Jaune and I a lot more, lately."

Em paused her cleaning.

"Yeah, what of it?"

"It's just… I dunno, you used to spend so much time with Ryan, what happened?"

She sighed. "We broke up."

I frowned. "Man, you've been together for like three years, what happened?"

"Two years, and… I don't wanna talk about it."

I stood up.

"What do you mean, c'mon, tell me. People don't have a long standing relationship like that then drop it like a sock full of lead."

"Why not?"

"Well.. there's gotta be a reason, right?"

She turned, and stood pointedly at me with a dull glare.

"I said I don't wanna talk about it."

"Well, I _know_ you don't wanna talk about it, but where you're wrong is that you _are_ gonna talk about it. Ryan was like, the best guy you've ever dated. He's kind, he's cute, he's sensitive. He's like Jaune, only, not Jaune."

Like clockwork, Jaune's head appeared around the front of the car.

"You think I'm cute?"

"Fuck off, Jaune, you're not part of this." I teased, tossing a rag at him. He disappeared again. "Anyway, he was a great guy, what happened, Emerald?"

She sighed, shoulders dropping heavily. This was a bad sign, usually.

"It's just…" She looked away.

"What, did he hit you, or something?" I could feel myself getting prematurely angry.

She shook her head, alleviating that worry.

"No, no… just… let's say that something happened, and I wasn't exactly pleased with the way he handled it. And… I assumed he was more mature than that. I was wrong. So I couldn't in good conscience continue that relationship."

I straightened.

"That's an awfully professional way of putting it."

"I've been trying to grow up recently. I figured it was time. Plus, that's pretty much how my mom said it after I went to her about it."

"Well, don't grow up too fast, jeez."

She leaned against the car with one hand on her face. She grimaced, but maintained a positive tone.

"It's not exactly by choice, but I'll try to stay a kid as long as possible. You know?"

"Emerald. I got in trouble this morning for being too dramatic. You can take it down a notch, or you don't get any birthday cake."

She immediately seemed to lighten, Taking her weight off the car and standing up again.

"I _do_ like cake."

"Well then, cheer up, don't worry so hard about things you can't control, and have some cake later."

"I'll… certainly try."

"That's what I like to hear. Now c'mere. You look like you need a hug."

She sighed. But stepped forward.

"Yeah, probably."

I took hold of her arms and pulled her in. I actually briefly forgot about our difference in height, right up until I caught her sternum in my nose as I wrapped my skinny arms around her back.

"Ow" we said together.

"Bend down a little."

"Sorry."

It was not our most comfortable of hugs, I'll be honest, since we mostly did our snuggling either sitting or lying down. But it got my point across. Everything was going to be okay, so long as I was around. Even if I personally was _woefully_ underprepared for her actual problems at current, I was okay with blissful ignorance as long as I could make my friend feel better.

"There, see?" I gently rubbed her back. "Feel better."

"Yeah."

"Well, then you can have cake."

"I like cake."

"Yeah, but you like me more, right?"

"Yeah."

I smiled.

"Goody. C'mon, they're handing out best in show awards in a few minutes. Car's gotta be spotless."

She chuckled and did a pretty bad air force salute.

"You got it, captain."

/.../

"And the winner of the award for best street rod, pre-nineteen fifty goes to John Milner, that's a mister Jonathan Milner and his nineteen thirty-two Ford Five-Window. That's one great lookin' machine, John. C'mon up and get yer award."

They had been handing out awards for a while now. Something like twenty-five awards already, and the table of statues had barely even been half collected yet. I had seen the yellow Deuce Coupe on a tour of the event with Jaune, and it was absolutely deserving of the award. Beach Boys album on the dash and everything. We watched the man struggle to get up out of his chair to collect his award. The guy looked like he was ninety, but _damn_ was he a craftsman. He seemed pleased to be getting awarded, but I had seen his photo album next to his car and this wasn't the first award that car had won. I wouldn't have been surprised if it had won best in show overall.

"Next up is Road Classic General Motors, nineteen sixty to nineteen eighty."

That was the group our car was entered in. I leaned over to Jaune and Em, sitting next to me in the dull grey plastic chairs.

"I bet that Judge across from us is gonna win. That thing is absolutely beauti-"

"Weiss Schnee, that's a miss Weiss Schnee with the nineteen seventy three Pontiac Catalina Grand Safari. Come on up 'ere."

I balked, freezing. Em and Jaune just turned to me with amused smiles.

"...ful?"

"Go on up, hun." Winter bumped me with her elbow. "Don't keep the man waiting."

I didn't really have any words as I sorta automatically rose from my seat. I shuffled sideways down the aisle and out, scurrying up to the edge of the stage, my head spinning. I nearly tripped over my own dumbass feet as I climbed up the two tiny steps and up onto the platform. The man with the microphone beckoned me over.

"C'mon, don't be shy, now."

Hey, I wasn't doing it deliberately.

I approached, and daintily shook the MC's outstretched right hand and took the award he presented with his other. It was a lovely dark cherry wood plaque, with a brass plate that had the _best in show_ award title imprinted upon it, along with an etching of a sixty-three ragtop Corvette, the symbol of the car club. I was stunned.

"Th-thank you, sir."

"Don't think you don't deserve it, ma'am. I like the car. And it really is best in class."

"Uh…"

"We'll get your award engraved with your name on it, it should be done by Friday. We'll give you a call, yeah?"

I shivered. My own award. For _me!_

"Yeah, I mean… yeah!"

"And happy birthday, kid."

I laughed. I could see Jaune and Emmy clapping for me down in their chairs. I heard Em whistle loudly with her fingers. They were the only ones cheering for me, but that was okay, they were the only ones I _wanted_ cheering for me. A pretty damn good day, if I do say so.

Best Sweet Sixteen of my life.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

 _August 2nd, 2004_

I sat down gently and squeezed my hands together as the man across from me put on a pair of reading glasses that still had the sale tag on them. He picked up the neat folder and opened it, adjusting his glasses and holding the papers at arms length. Clearly he had bad vision.

"It's _Weiss,_ right? I ain't sayin' that wrong?"

"Yes sir, that's correct."

"Ah, good. Y'know if I say it wrong, ya gotta tell me."

"Of course."

He flipped through the pages.

"So yer a musician?"

"I'm… a high school student, sir. I play music as a hobby."

"Which high school do ya go to?"

"Sir Robert Borden."

"Huh."

He paused, studying the pages like they were some epic novel.

"You uh… Says here you don' wanna be a cashier."

I paused, trying not to sweat.

"I would prefer not to, but I am willing to learn."

He pushed out his bottom lip and nodded towards the folder.

"Arright. That's good. Ya came right to me, though, not to the ladies up front to drop this off."

He looked over at me over the top of his glasses, holding my folder in one hand.

"Y-yes, sir."

"So you're tellin' me you wanna work in Automotive."

"Preferably, yes."

He put the folder down.

"Okay, so why should I hire _you_ out of all the other resumes?"

"W-well, I'm a passionate hard worke-"

He raised a hand to stop me, and pointed back down to the folder.

"I don' need you to recite yer resume to me, I want you to tell me what's interesting about _you_ in _your_ words."

"Isn't… that what my cover letter was for?"

He blinked, frowning, before opening up my folder again.

"Oh, you wrote a cover letter. See, no one else ever gave me one before, I didn't notice it."

He shrugged and closed the folder.

"So instead of me wasting your time an' reading it now, why don'tchu tell me about yourself _personally_ , instead of in writing?"

"Uh, well, I'm really passionate."

"Passionate about what?"

I paused.

"Not being broke?"

He seemed to take a second for his brain to process, before smiling and chuckling loudly with a big toothy grin.

"That's uh… that's a good thing to be passionate about." He wiped the corner of his eye on his wrist. "Good answer, I like it."

"Thank you, I worked hard on it."

"Excellent, excellent…" he rocked back on his chair. "Kay, so why Automotive? Why not see Shelley in Hardware or Marc in Proshop?"

"I-I guess because I like cars?"

He paused with a smirk.

" _You_ like cars?"

"Yes, sir."

"You know a lot about cars?"

"I would say so."

"Huh…" He paused. "You seem a little… _young_ to be sayin' you know _a lot._ Normally that takes time."

"I read a lot, sir."

"You ever work on cars?"

I tried not to grin or seem smug.

"I helped my sister rebuild a seventy-three Pontiac from the ground up."

"So you know your way around a set o' wrenches, then."

"I would say so."

He clasped his hands together and set them down on his desk.

"Why isn't that on your resume, then?"

I bit my lip.

"I di- I did - I didn't think it was relevant."

"You didn't think that was relevant? You mean to say that you wanna come work for me, here, in the Automotive department of Canada's _national_ car parts supplier, and you don't think it's relevant to tell your potential employer that you know about and can fix cars?"

"I thought resumes are supposed to be professional."

He shrugged.

"Depends on the profession."

"Oh, I-"

"This isn't a suit an' tie law firm, ya know. It's retail. This is a very nice resume. Way _too_ nice for us here. But that's good. DO you have your own toolbox?"

"Uh, my sister has one, but we share it."

"What does the inside of it look like? Tools thrown in whatever drawer ya opened, all messy?"

"No, it is very organized and neat. Tools are put back only exactly where they go."

"Spend a lot of time fixin' it, do ya?"

"Yes sir, my sister is very messy with her tools."

"You'll notice I'm the same as you with my department. It's very neat. Organized."

"Yes, I saw on my way in."

"You think you can keep it that way?"

"Yes, I can."

"Good." He smiled, reaching down and opening a drawer. He tossed a plastic package onto the table between us. "Take this."

I reached for it slowly. It was a bag with a red shirt in it.

"What is this?"

"Put it on. It's a good thing you're wearing black pants already. I'll be at the desk out there."

He stood up and left the room, closing the door behind him. I was at a loss. I really didn't know what to do further than submit a resume and perform sufficiently in an interview in front of some kind of board of directors. I glanced down at my right palm, which I had scribbled a short cheat sheet on how to impress in an interview as told to my by my sister. I hadn't used any of the hints. Which was fine by me, since due to the nervous rubbing of my hands, I had rubbed the note right off. Oops.

"Wait, does this mean I'm hired?"

Since there was no one to confirm or deny me, I shrugged, sighed, and grabbed the plastic package and tore it open. I pulled the red golf shirt out and held it up, looking at the low-quality plastic buttons and the not-exactly straight stitching around the sleeve cuffs. Whatever, I didn't have to pay for it, so what did I care. Since the door had a window on it that looked directly into the auto shop, I elected to forgo a proper change and just pulled it down over the argyle sweater vest and white blouse. Yeah, it was gonna get warm, but that was fine, there was air conditioning. I stood up, and tossed the empty plastic bag into the trash can before stepping back out onto the store floor, coming out behind the service desk. I didn't see the manager anywhere.

"Mister Port?"

"Over 'ere. 'Hind the batteries."

I stepped carefully around the corner to the parts desk, seeing the manager behind a rack of car batteries that separated the retail floor from the warehouse. I was tentative to follow. I stepped through the little swinging _Employees Only_ door and into the dimly lit back warehouse. It was very cramped, and it was absolutely _full_ floor to ceiling with parts and products. My head was spinning a little.

"Now, I can't remember, I was jus' lookin' at it too. Is it _e-i_ or _i-e_ the spelling of your name?"

"Uh, _e-i._ "

"Okay, good. Two _s_ 's?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cyool."

He fiddled with a label printer for a second, the device crick-cracking as it a label out. He took it, and slapped it loudly onto a door in the middle of a row of lockers that was hidden out of sight by a curtain.

"This is your locker. You can use it for yer coat or whatever. Throw pens in it, put candy in there, I don't care. Now c'mon, I'll give you a tour."

I nodded and followed the rotund manager through the very narrow aisles, the light from the retail floor dying out as we pushed deeper into the warehouse. The smell of oil from a fifty-foot long row of boxes was pungent.

"So, where're ya from?"

I balked.

"Uh, thirteen twenty Midland Crescent."

Mr. Port chuckled.

"No, I meant geographically. Your accent, it's very subtle. Where're ya from?"

"Oh, uh, sorry, Hamburg. Germany."

"A kraut, eh? I thought I recognized that accent."

A peculiar point, since my native accent had all but vanished by this point in my life. I mean, there were still _some_ hints of it in my speaking, but so very few that I could pass for a native Canadian pretty easily. To that point, Mr. Port's accent was out in the open, very brash and _very_ Quebecois. But I guess when you work in the service industry, you start to gather an understanding of vocal patterns whether you know it or not. And I suspect he took great pride in this.

"Yeah, I moved here when I was six, but I did learn to speak German first. Then French, _then_ English."

"Oh, you speak French, do ya?"

"Yes sir. But Parisian French, not French-Canadian. And not very well, it's been a few years."

He shrugged.

"Well, you're the only person on staff who's tri-lingual, I'll tell ya that. And you can call me Peter, you don' have to keep sayin' 'sir' all the time."

"Alright, I can do that."

"Good." he said, accentuating the _d_ sound. "So over 'ere is where we keep paint, you'll notice it's supposed to be a closed cage, but I got tired of the door so I took it off."

"Is that what this is, then?" I asked, pointing to a large metal grate that was shoved sloppily in between two shelves.

"Yeah, that'd be it. You know why paint's supposed t' be locked up?"

I paused.

"Uh, in case a can explodes?"

"Heh, no, it's to stop employees from stealing it. But I figure that my employees are pretty reliable 'round here. Well, most of 'em."

I tried not to think too hard about how Peter viewed his team, and followed him up a very rickety flight of metal stairs to the warehouse's upper floor. Which appeared to be made of plywood loosely screwed to the regular shelving. If this was to code, the code was extremely out of date.

"So this is the tire warehouse. You'll probably spend a lot of time up here. It _is_ in th' name of the store, after all. We get a shipment of tires every day, and somebody has to put them up off the floor, eh?"

"I guess so."

The smell of rubber was immense. But so was the sheer quantity of black and round that lined the shelves. There must have been close to two thousand tires in this cramped space. How Peter could even move around with how thin the aisles were was a mystery. I suspect it had something to do with how _fast_ he moved, brute-forcing his way through and around a corner.

"This is hardware, you won't have to worry about this. Straight down here at the end is seasonal. You'll see people milling about up here when they don't wanna be seen. C'mon."

I followed him back down another set of sketchy metal stairs and into a more open area of the warehouse, with two big metal garage doors on the far wall.

"This is receiving, we typically get two trucks a day to those doors full of product."

"Do I have to unload them?"

Peter chuckled and tucked his thumbs into his pockets.

"No, no, that's what the receiving staff is for. They take the product out of the trucks, put it on red carts, then push it out to the departments. Then it's _your_ job to put the product on the shelves. That's the system we got goin' on here. Let's head back and I'll get you acquainted with the computer."

I was led back through the cramped and overstocked warehouse and back to my locker, and through the swinging door that led back to the parts and service desks. On the parts desk were a pair of computers, both displaying green-on-black DOS-style screens covered in numbers that I didn't understand yet. I was guided up to the close one, and Peter moved himself around to the far side of the desk.

"Right, this is our part supply system, called LaserKat. Don' ask me about the name, I don' know why either. Generally when a customer comes up to the desk, they're either gonna want to bother you or they're gonna want a part. And so first thing you gotta do is figure out what kinda car it's for. Click on the thing that says ' _Parts and Service'._ "

I fiddled with the mouse for a second, clicking on what he had asked. A pop up window came up.

"Okay, now, everything that comes up on screen like that, you generally wanna ask as a question to get more information. Now, what kinda car did you say your sister had?"

"A seventy-three Catalina Grand Safari."

He nodded with an impressed look.

"Big car. Said you worked on it?"

"Yes, I did. I helped."

"Good, good. Okay, let's say I'm you, comin' in and I need a wheel cylinder for that car. Click the button that says ' _Automotive'._ "

I did as I was told. A big menu came up on screen with every year from nineteen fifty to two thousand five. Funny, that was next year. It made sense though, since some new cars were marketed as Oh-Fives. Remembering what he had said, I looked to him and posed the pop-up as a question.

"What year?"

He smiled.

"You got this already. Nineteen seventy three."

I clicked.

"Make?"

"Pontiac."

I clicked again, having to search through like seventy names.

"Model?"

"It's probably gonna come up as 'Full-Size' in there."

"Oh, I see it. It says 'Full-Size', and then in brackets 'Catalina' and a bunch of others."

"Yeah, click on that."

Another pop-up.

"Engine? Uh, it's a four-hundred. That's not either of these."

Peter leaned over the desk.

"Yeah, these are in litres. So, you're smart, what's four hundred cubic inches in litres?"

I paused, gritting my teeth.

"Six and a half?"

"That's right, so pick that one. Or, Six-point-six in this case. Most car engines in here are rated in litres, 'cause most are Japanese and metric. The only conversions you'll have to remember is that three-fifty is five point seven, and three-oh-five is five litres."

I nodded and clicked on the motor.

"I mean… I could just do the conversion in my head for everything."

"Yeah, I guess so, but remember that most normal people _can't,_ so don't go showin' off."

I broke a smile, which quickly went away as a menu of about thirty different headings popped up.

"Uh, what next?"

"Well, I asked for a wheel cylinder, and that's part of the braking system. So, which button do you think you should click?"

I studied the list. It was pretty obvious.

"I'm gonna guess ' _Brakes'._ "

"I knew you were smart. Go on."

Another, shorter menu.

"Uh…"

"Well, it wouldn't be under pads and rotors, so…"

"Brake hydraulics."

"That's right."

I clicked. A new list filled the screen, covered in product numbers, quantities and prices. Peter stood up and sauntered around to my side of the desk, and fished his glasses out of his pocket again.

"Okay, this is the sales and inventory list. This shows you whatcha got in stock and how much it , I wasn't specific with which cylinder I wanted, but they're all here on the list, front left, front right, rear left and right. Now, at this point, you'd as the customer…"

"Which wheel cylinder are you looking for?"

He nodded.

"Let's uh… front right." he pointed at the screen. "Now, you read here for which one it is, then you read across for how many we have and how much it is. Oh, would you look at that, there's one in stock."

"It's nineteen-ninety-nine."

"Twenny bucks. Not bad. Alright, there, you looked up a part. Real easy, right?"

"Uh, I guess so."

"Good." He slapped me on the shoulder, almost knocking me into next week with how meaty his mits were. "Now, the most common thing a customer is gonna ask for here is oil and filters. So let's do that now."

I nodded and moved my mouse up to the top corner to close the program and reload it.

"Ah, wait, now hold on."

I paused.

"You don't gotta close it every time. Go up to the top of the page and click ' _New Vehicle'."_

I followed his instruction. Only the popup for _year_ showed up. It was all starting to click in my head.

"Okay."

"Right, let's find us a filter. Pick another car."

I thought for a second.

"My sister's truck."

"Go fer it."

I spun the mouse around the screen to see where it was, lining up with _1996,_ then _Ford,_ then _F-Series._ Since the old truck had been a Royal Canadian Navy service vehicle before we'd bought it surplus, it had the biggest engine available, the black-hole fuel vacuum of a Four-Sixty. Seriously, it would have been more efficient to set fire to the truck and roll it down a hill. I clicked the correct selection.

"Okay, now, since this system is a li'l bit helpful sometimes, they put the most used button first. Click on _Oil and Filters._ "

I did. Another list popped up, and without prompting, I clicked on _Filters & PCV_. This brought up a list like before, with a long list of product numbers and pricing for a whole slew of different products.

"So, at this point, you can offer yer customers a choice. High-brow synthetic filters, cheap and cheerful Motomaster brand, or somethin' in the middle. Most people don' really care, so I usually feed 'em the middle of the road and they don't complain. Now, scroll to th' bottom of the page, you'll see viscosity and capacity. 'Cause once they pick their filter, nine times outta ten they come back askin' 'bout what kinda oil they're gonna need. So I like to have it ready."

"I think that's a good idea."

Peter chuckled, grasping at his belly.

"Of course it is, it's my idea. Now, when you 'n yer sister work on the Catalina, what kinda filters do you guys use? Fram? Mobil1? K&N?"

"Uh, usually genuine General Motors replacement parts."

"Geez, is your sister _made_ of money?"

"Well… she does like her car to look original. And it _did_ win Best in Show at the Valentine's day car show this year."

"Oh, that's good." he paused to sigh. "Well, next on th' list then, if oil filters are gonna be big 'round here, and they are, why don't you grab a basket, head into aisle four, and uh, fill up any holes you see in the shelves of filters."

I nodded assuredly. "I can do that."

"I like your attitude. If only the rest of the department was like you. Now, there's a buncha ways you can do this, you can write down all the product numbers you need and only get the right amount, or you can load up a cart with _all_ of them and just fill the shelves that way. Up to you. Just don't try to be like me and try to remember all the numbers in yer head, you'll go crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy. Besides, I'm really good with numbers."

He smirked.

"Alright, then let's see how much you can do without writing it down. Get on it."

/.../

I have a head for numbers. I'm good with patterns. I mean, this should be obvious, but it's theorized that people with high math skills also make for good musicians. And I believe the inverse is true, those who are skilled in the musical arts make better mathematicians. Thusly, it isn't hard to make the connection that since I have perfect pitch and am a fairly competent piano player that I'd be good with remembering the hundreds upon hundreds of product numbers that come with a retail job.

And truth be told, I was. Numbers were easy. Sorting product was easy. They weren't products, really, just neatly organized numbers. And I _like_ numbers. For the two years I worked for that store, I was good with numbers, and I made sure all the numbers were _right._ Funny that the very first day I was given a clipboard and instructed to count every product in the Automotive department and compare it to a master list to make sure the inventory count was correct, then. Because I was good at that. So come the middle of the day, I had already cruised through the first two aisles and submitted a list of adjustments for Peter to pass on to the lady upstairs. Now I was up to aisle four again, and now that I had refilled all the shelves, counting product and filling out my clipboard was easy.

I sat back on my knees and held my tongue in my teeth. This wasn't exactly a hard job. Write down product number, check product number, make a series of tally marks, then compare it to the master list. Easy. It just meant you were uncomfortable for a bit while you checked the lower shelves. And I'll be honest, the fancy dress pants I had picked out for my interview didn't lend a lot of flexibility to being on the floor. And the floor was making them dirty. That was a shame. But, you know, I had a washing machine and I knew how to use it. A few customers had come up to me for questions, and the few I didn't know off hand I sent to Peter at the desk. But some of their questions were easy, like 'where's the washroom', and 'how late are you open', so it wasn't like I was _completely_ helpless. Just mostly helpless. I sighed and reached out to count one of the rows of filters.

"Excuse me, could you help me find a filter?"

See, most customers would ask for help from about six feet away, but this one came from right in my ear. I coiled up like a spring and dropped my clipboard.

"Juu- _ahhhh!"_ I turned to look at the offending party. It was a blond idiot. "Holy shit, Jaune, you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"A little."

"Dick."

"Also that."

I picked up my clipboard and stood up, brushing off my knees.

"What're you doing here?"

"Exactly what I said. I'm here for parts. And since you told me you were going in for an interview today, I thought I'd stop by and see if they hired you. So imagine my surprise when I come in to see you wearing the Red already."

"Jaune were you… doubting me?"

He chuckled. I punched him in the arm.

"No, I didn't doubt you. See when I was interviewed at the theatre they asked me if I could start like, after the weekend. What did they do with you?"

"Well, uh, I was kind of thrown into the deep end. I was handed a uniform and my manager said 'go nuts', and here I am. Doing inventory. On my first day."

"Hey, you haven't collapsed yet."

"That I haven't. Now, you said you needed parts?"

"Yep."

"Follow me, then."

I guided my dumbass friend back over to the parts counter and slid myself up behind the right computer and diddled the mouse for a second to find it on screen. I pulled up LaserKat and leaned over the counter to my 'customer'.

"This for the Previa?"

He put on a sly smile.

"Nope."

I frowned.

"Uh… what other car could it be? I thought you guys only had the van?"

He crossed his arms and looked smug. God I hated his smug face. And by hate I mean… you know.

"Well, since I got a job, and I finished grade ten with high grades, _and_ I got my learners they decided that I deserved some kind of award for some reason, and they offered to help me buy a car."

My eyebrows reached orbit.

"They did _what?"_

"Yeah, a little while ago they gave me some money, which combined with my measly salary at the theatre, led me to buy myself something I can learn to drive in. You know? It's nothing special, in fact, you helped me pick it out back in June."

"I did?"

"Yeah, you remember, we were in my kitchen with an Autotrader."

I frowned. It seemed just a _little_ unfair that his parents were able to front some cash for him to buy a car, but I guess it made sense since none of his sisters lived with them anymore, and he was now their only dependant. I'll admit I was a bit jealous.

"Oh yeah, I remember now. So what'd you pick, lucky boy?"

"Well, you remember how I said I wanted a truck?"

Of course I did. He had told me a _while_ back that he wanted something quintessentially American and old-school, even though this is the twenty-first century and, you know, Canada.

"Yeah."

"Well, I went and bought a truck. It's a little rough around the edges, but it's solid."

I nodded. A wave of pride washed through me.

"I would expect nothing less. Alright. Let's find you some parts then. Uh, Year of maufacture?"

"Nineteen ninety one."

I nodded.

"Make?"

"Chevrolet."

"Aaaaaand model?"

"C1500."

I turned to him.

"A two wheel drive?"

Jaune shrugged.

"It was cheaper. And I figure it'll teach me patience."

"I guess that's fair. Alright, final question. Which motor?"

I had expected him to say the small six cylinder. The most economical of choices. See, with my knowledge of Jaune thus far, I knew he would have jumped all over a base model truck because of how simple and reliable it would be. He wasn't exactly fond of excess and fancy options because they would only break and he wasn't exactly the best repair person on the planet. He liked low-profile and unobtrusive. So I hovered the mouse over the the little _4.3L V6_ button on the screen, and looked back at him.

To see a sly and devious smile.

I was unprepared.

"Four hundred and fifty four American cubic inches."

I blinked.

"I'm sorry, I think I misheard. _What?_ "

"Four-fifty-four."

I took a moment to glare at him over the counter.

"Jaune, did you buy that 454SS."

"Uh huh. You told me to."

I shook.

"Jaune, that was a joke. I pointed that out in the book as a joke."

"Yeah, I know. But then I looked it up on the web and found some pretty interesting articles about it. Every car reviewer who's driven it seems to like it. And you praised it pretty highly, so I figured I owe'd it at least a look."

"Jaune, you can't go making large purchase decisions based on what _I_ say!"

He shrugged.

"Why not? I went and test drove it, and it was exactly what I wanted. I mean, it fit within the criteria of what I wanted, it was just a lot cooler that whatever _I_ was gonna pick."

I dropped my face into my hands and gripped at my hair in vain.

"You're an idiot."

"Yeah. But I'm an idiot with a 454SS."

"Ugh."

"Hey, now that you work here, you can help me get parts, can't you?"

I stood up and did the most dramatic eye roll of my life.

"Oh, so you're an asshole, too."

He laughed.

"Yuuuup."

"Ugh. Uuuuughhhh Jaune, you should not have bought that truck."

He nodded.

"Yeah, I know. I have to pay for my own gas for it. It's certainly not a Prius."

I drummed my fingers on my desk.

"Did you drive it here today?"

"Yes I did."

I bit my lip.

"May I see it?"

"Sure! I mean, are you allowed to leave?"

I looked up at the clock. It was one o'clock.

"I can now. Just a sec, let me find my manager."

I spun around and slipped behind the service desk and around the corner to his office, seeing him through the window. I knocked out of courtesy, but barged in anyway to find him elbow-deep in a bowl of soup. By the smell of it, cream of mushroom. He put it down as I stepped into the office.

"How's it going out there? Got my inventory done yet?"

"Uh, not yet, but I will soon. It's uh… do you mind if I go for my lunch?"

Peter paused briefly, before looking down at his watch. His eyes went wide.

"Oh shit, it's time fer yer break. Yeah, yeah, go. Sorry, I got caught up with my soup, I didn' realize what time it was. Go on, I'll be out inna second."

"Thanks, Peter."

I turned and fled the office and hopped back over to my counter to a bemused idiot.

"Okay, _now_ we can go."

"Sweet. C'mon."

We made our way towards the door. But of course, a sudden realization hit me as the summer sun of outside did too. I stopped dead in my tracks.

"Oh, fuck."

Jaune stopped and turned slightly. "What's 'oh fuck'?"

"I just remembered that I don't have a lunch."

"Oh."

"Yeah I uh, didn't think I'd be working on day one so I didn't think to pack one."

"Huh. Well that's convenient."

"It is?"

"C'mon."

I furrowed for a second. Seeing as he had already stepped off the sidewalk and towards the parking lot, I didn't have much of a choice but to follow. So I did. Jaune seemed much more at ease than someone normally would who had just spent a shit load of money from such a minimal income. I caught up to him just as we reached the edge of the parking lot, where there was only one car parked all by its lonesome. I stopped just short.

"Oh my."

"Pretty, ain't she?"

The black paint sparkled back at me like a big hunk of onyx. The subtle red trim of the decals only made it cooler.

"Oh _my."_

"You starting to understand why I bought this truck?"

"Jaune, you're a nut job."

"Pfft, yeah."

It was beautiful. Like it had just been washed and waxed within an inch of its life. I couldn't take my eyes off the dark sea of shining black body and the bright sparkle of the chrome wheels. In my opinion, single cab short bed trucks were pretty cool, and this particular truck dethroned them _all._ I wanted to reach out and caress the silver and red _454SS_ badges on its flanks. But I didn't because I have self control.

"Holy shit. That's a lot of truck, Jaune."

"Oh, I know. I'm still getting to grips with it."

"How long've you had it?"

"Since Monday. I've been keeping it under wraps while I learned how to drive it and clean it."

"Damn."

"It is a lot of metal to have to polish. C'mon, have a seat."

He dropped the tailgate with a bang, and I hopped up on it. Jaune joined me after a moment of digging around in the cab of his new toy. The truck sagged a little from our weight, and I took a second to notice how tall Jaune was getting. His feet touched the ground while mine swung freely in the air. He was getting taller than me. I tried not to let this show either.

"Hey, remember I said it was convenient that you didn't have a lunch?"

"Uh, yeah?"

From his side, he produced two plastic bags with the green and yellow markings of Subway on them, heavily laden with a pair of eleven inch long sandwiches. The smell of mustard wafted over.

"Well, I figured you wouldn't pack a lunch, so I picked up your favourite sandwich on my way in."

"Well that's awfully sweet of you, Jaune."

"Hey, on my first day at the theatre you and your sister took me to lunch over at that Thai place next door. Think of this as me repaying the favour."

I rolled my eyes and took the sandwich, pulling it out of the bag. It was a familiar smell.

"Well, thank you, that's very kind of you."

"Yeah, see, normally this would be the part where I would say 'you'd do the same for me', but you already did do the same for me, so that loses all of its dramatic appeal."

I sighed with a smile and unwrapped my sandwich. It was my usual order, cold cut combo, toasted on Italian herb and cheese. You know, I was starting to think he didn't remember anything about me. Well, I was wrong.

"Well. I'm certainly appreciative." I took a bite. It was still warm from the oven. "This is great. Not just the sandwich. Or the new truck. Just… you know. Thanks for putting in the effort, Jaune."

"I do my best."

"Yeah, you're pretty good at it."

"Yeah."

We sat for a moment in silence as a warm breeze whooshed across the parking lot. The sandwich was warm and delicious, and dripped mustard-mayo-hotsauce mix out the back and onto the napkin on my lap. I sniffled a second and wiped a piece of shredded lettuce off my lip.

"Hey, so, have you spoken to Emerald recently?"

Jaune turned to look at me over his sandwich.

"Uh, yeah, actually. She had me over 'bout uh, two weeks ago?"

I frowned.

"She did? Jeez, she hasn't spoken to me in like, a month and a half. Why'd _you_ get special privileges?"

Jaune chuckled.

"Weiss, you were in Germany for _all of July."_

"I mean, yeah, but still."

"She said she's been busy with her new job and all that."

"I just miss her, though. Why did she have _you_ over?"

"She needed my help with the twins, and she remembered that I have experience with young children."

I paused a second.

"Twins? What twins? Emmy doesn't have kids."

"Yeah, but for one day she did. Apparently her aunt dropped off her baby cousins at like seven in the morning and then just fucked off to work without so much as a note, so she just woke up to two crying babies in her house and didn't know how to deal with them."

"Oh damn."

"Yeah, oh damn is right. So she calls me, crying like a baby herself, and tells me to come over and help 'cause she remembered all those times you guys would come over when I had my nephew Adrian with me. I-I guess she assumed I was the most capable person available, I dunno."

I squinted.

"What about her mom?! Or her dad for that matter?!"

"Her mom was at work before the babies showed up, and she works _past Orleans_ so I don't think she was gonna come back quick enough, and her dad's in, like, Paris right now. Or something like that, he's an airline pilot, he's indisposed. You know."

I scratched my head and went back to my sandwich.

"Oh yeah, right. So what'd you do?"

"Well, I hopped on my bike and went over immediately. I showed her how to change diapers, because let me tell you they needed it, I showed her how to warm up bottles, without a microwave. Fun fact, you stick the bottle in your armpit for ten minutes, it gets right up to body temperature."

I shrugged.

"Guess you'd be alright at this, eh. You're a pretty good uncle to Adrian."

"I pride myself on being the _best_ uncle, thank you very much."

"Jaune you're… you're his _only_ uncle, you idiot."

"And that makes me the best, now doesn't it."

"I hope Em asked for a refund when you guys were done."

He put a hand to his chest.

"You offend me so freely. I get off _my_ ass to go help _your_ best friend with _her_ baby crisis and you treat me this way? So rude."

I nudged him in the shoulder.

"Yeah, but you love it."

"You are mistaken."

I laughed. I was not mistaken, Jaune was wrong.

"So what else did you guys do on your date?"

"It wasn't a date, we were at her house, taking care of her nightmare cousins. But anyway, since you're _so_ interested, ya pest, I helped her get the children bathed and put to bed at like, three in the afternoon, and then I had to get _her_ bathed and put to bed because she was covered in puke and like five seconds away from a breakdown."

"You _bathed_ Emerald?"

Jaune rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I sat on the edge of the tub and sponged her, _no,_ you idiot, I shoved her towards the shower and let her be."

"Okay, jeez, I was just curious."

Jaune seemed genuinely amused by me. I was doing my utmost to irritate him.

"Anyway when she was _done,_ we uh, decided to check on the young'uns, I broke out my guitar, played them some Blue Rodeo to keep them soothed-"

"You brought your guitar?!"

"Of… course, I was taking care of little kids. They all like the soft, dulcet tones of my playing, don't ya know."

No Jaune, I don't know. It's a struggle to get you to play for me. And here Emerald and her unappreciative cousins get it for free."

"You're very irritating. _That's_ why I don't play for you. Besides, I wasn't playing for them when they were awake, they'd have just screamed louder."

I grimaced and had more sandwich.

"Gosh, were they really that bad? Like, crotch-goblin bad?"

"Eh, not quite, but pretty close. They were… let's say _challenging,_ and I can see why Em got so overwhelmed so _quickly._ She was _really_ upset when I showed up, crying and bawling and saying how much she _didn't_ want kids and how woefully sad she was about it."

"Well that seems like overkill."

Jaune shrugged.

"Yeah, that's what I said too. I told her that she was _way_ too young to be saying she was never going to have kids just 'cause of a bad experience with two demons that showed up by surprise one morning. Having kids is like one of those learning experiences, right? Where-where you gotta make decisions and choices in real time, and how you learn to grow and raise kids, hopefully with someone else to help you, doesn't matter who. That day, it was me, 'cause I was convenient. But you understand what I'm saying, right?"

I nodded.

"I think so."

"Like, I told her 'no one's gonna show up one day and drop and evil villain into your life, that takes planning and time' and of course she goes and asks what _I_ would do if someone _did,_ and I told her I would hike up my pants and deal with it. But I would ask for help, and immediately. But I'm not in any danger of waking up tomorrow with a child in my custody, mind you."

"Well geez, Jaune, I would certainly hope not."

"Of course. See, what would _you_ do if you woke up tomorrow and had a kid."

"Uh, be really disappointed that I didn't get to experience the sex that made said kid?"

Jaune laughed into his sandwich.

"Jesus, Weiss, you're unbelievable."

"Not unbelievable, Jaune, _human._ But, I dunno, if it was sprung on me, I'd probably cry and call you. Sounds like Emerald made the right choice here."

"Well, probably. But she was so… despondent. She was so _upset._ She was _really_ adamant about not wanting kids, it was coming from something deep inside her, you know? I did my best to convince her that it's fine to not want kids _now,_ like to focus on her future and her life, but that's not to say _never._ I mean maybe she really doesn't, but normally people make that kind of lifetime decision when they're not _crying their eyes out_ and trying to feed an infant that's trying to bite their arm off."

I chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah. What about you, Jaune? After your experience the other day, do you want kids?"

"Oh, I'm not going to let one bad experience tarnish me. Of course I want kids. Just not tomorrow. But you know, if I get to that age where I'm an adult and in control of my life and I decide 'hey you know what, kids aren't for me', that'll be fine too. But as of right now, yeah maybe one day. And you?"

I thought for a moment, looking over at him. I tried to be subtle. If I wasn't, he either didn't notice or didn't mention it.

"Yeah, I think so. But. As you said. Not tomorrow. I literally only _just now_ got my first job, let me rake in some green before I make a decision that affects an entire other person."

"Weiss, this is Canada, our hundreds are brown."

"Yeah, well, 'raking in the brown' doesn't sound as good!"

"Also it's ' _racking'._ "

"Oh, fuck off."

"I'm just sayin'."

"Yeah, well so am I!" I almost shouted. "My point stands, though, I don't think I am responsible enough for it _right now,_ both financially and mentally, for that kind of thing in my life. When I'm a grown up, then ask me if I'm ready. 'Cause right now, yeah, I'm with you. I ain't ready for that."

Jaune shrugged.

"That's what I figured, and that's pretty much what I told her, too."

"She ever come around?"

A sigh.

"Yeah, eventually. By like, six o'clock, when we were making dinner. Well, actually, when _I_ was making dinner and she was trying to entertain the kids."

"Ooh, what'd you make."

"Fettuccini Alfredo. It was all she had in the fridge that wasn't labelled in Arabic so I could actually figure it out. And then after dinner, the psychos were asleep again and she was finally down off her high, she wanted to go for a bike ride, and since conveniently I had mine too, I obliged her. And apparently, unbeknownst to us, she's actually extremely big into fitness."

I frowned.

"Really?"

"Yeah, she's like, got this full athletic kit she wears, fancy running shoes, a really trick racing bike, she's totally nuts about it all of a sudden. I asked her how long she'd been doing this and she was like 'since spring', and her reasoning was that for one, being fit is good for your health, and for two apparently to be a pilot you need to pass some strenuous fitness exam or something, or so she says. And we all know how much she wants to be a pilot."

"I wonder why she never mentioned that to us."

"I dunno. I mean, she never really tells us about her hobbies. Did you know she plays Sitar?"

I thought for a second.

"You know, I did know that, I just forgot."

"Yeah, I heard her play. She's no professional, but she's a hundred percent better than me."

"I would suspect so."

"Well. Maybe this is just another one of her hobbies that she doesn't tell us about. I wish she would. She seems like she keeps a lot of secrets."

I sighed.

"Yeah, I know."

"Yeah."

We sat in silence for a moment, the midday sun beating down on us and baking our faces. I tried to change the subject to something we would both enjoy that was still within the same bounds.

"Say, have you noticed that Em's… filling out a little?"

"What do you mean?"

I gestured to the upper forty percent of my torso.

"Y'know, like…"

Jaune pursed his lips at me.

"Weiss, I am a heterosexual teenaged male in the formative years of mental and social development. _Obviously_ I noticed. I noticed that when it started when we were _twelve._ "

I pouted through a giggle.

"It's unfair. I got shafted with the short and thin, while you and her get the tall and the feminine."

"Oh, please, don't be so dramatic. You've got _years_ left, don't worry about it. I'm sure you'll end up both tall _and_ bodacious, like, you know, your sister."

"Hey, don't compare me to Winter."

"I'm just sayin', It's more than likely where you'll end up."

I chuckled.

"I hate to say it, but I certainly hope so."

He bumped his shoulder into mine. I tried not to flush.

"One day, Weiss. One day."

" _Then_ will you think I'm attractive?"

"Oh Jesus Christ, Weiss."

We laughed at each other. It was pretty good. I sighed and put down the empty sandwich wrapper.

"So what happened when her aunt came to pick up her kids again? Were you still there for that?"

"Yeah, I was, actually. You know how Emerald's a _huge_ fan of violent confrontation? Like, she's _always_ raring to go?"

"Oh yeah."

"Well, when her aunt finally showed up again at like, seven thirty at night, Em handed them back, all sleeping and bathed and happy, and her aunt thanked her with that insincere smile like family members who mooch off you have, right?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Well, I could tell that she was about a millisecond away from losing her shit and tackling this woman to the ground, but since the children were sleeping, she elected to put on an equally fake smile and was like 'no problem, any time', but we all knew that meant 'if you do this again, I'll kill you' and honestly I've never seen someone leave as quickly as her aunt did. I went home after that, so whatever went on between Em and her mom when she got back is news to me."

I smiled.

"Well, thanks for looking after her for a day. I'm glad I can trust you to play house husband sometimes."

"Do not make the mistake to think I enjoyed any of it. It was still _hell_ with those two. But y'know, I am always eager to help out, and I'm free during the day."

"Oh yeah? What about tomorrow?"

Jaune nodded.

"Yeah, tomorrow's open. What were you thinking?"

"How about I swing by. We'll go bother- I mean check up on Emerald together."

"Alright. Sounds like a plan."

"Cool." I checked my watch. "I need to get back to work soon."

He held up his hands.

"Don't let me keep you. Wouldn't want you to get fired on your first day."

"Guess not, eh? Well, I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Yeah, see ya."

I hopped off the tailgate of his truck and stepped away, turning back.

"Nice truck, by the way. It suits you."

"Aw, thanks."

I turned back to Canadian Tire with a grin.


End file.
